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BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

 
BERTHA THE BEAUTY:

STORY OF THE SOUTHERN REVOLUTION.

BY
SARAH J. C. WHITTLESEY,

AUTHOR OF “ HEART-DROPS FROM MEMORY’S URN ;” “THE STRANGER’S STRAT AGEM;”
“HERBERT HAMILTON ; OR, THE BAS BLEU,” ETO.

It was a very proper answer to him who asked, why any man should be
delighted with Beauty? that it was a question that none but a blind man
could ask; since any beautiful object doth so much attract the sight of all
men, that it isin no man’s power not to be pleased with it, —Clarendon.

PHILADELPHIA:
CLAXTON, REMSEN & HA FFELFINGER,
Nos. 819 & 821 Marker Srrzer,

1872.

 
 

 

RESPECTFULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY

Dedicated

mn “f . 3
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by To D. W hs BAGLEY, eas,
SARAH J. ©. WHITTLESEY, ‘ OLINA
, TOTOAN TOR" YA sl NA,
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, OF WILMING ON, NORTH CAR

STEREOTYPED BY J, FAGAN & SON, PHIL. ADELPHIA,

BY

{re Author.

ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA,
August 16, 1871,

 
CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.
Brerrua’s FATHER
CHAPTER II.

2m, ) a.
Berrua’s F RIENDS

CHAPTER III.

JEALOous, —“UnNciE NED” .

CHAPTER IV.

 

Mrixntz’s CoNnFESSION. — THE PRISONER

 

CHAPTER V.
Mr, PETERROY SIMPKINS OF PETUNIA PARK

CHAPTER VI.
Tur BREAKFAStT-TABLE D1scussION

CHAPTER VII.

Tur Bua ORACLE
CHAPTER VIII.
Mr. Stmpxrys visirs Miss REDMOND .
CHAPTER IX.
PETER GETs SACKED
CHAPTER X.

Oak Grove. — “Tur ACADEMY ”

 
 

 

 

CONTENTS,

CHAPTER XI.
BERTHA’S TRIALS AT “THE ACADEMY ”

CHAPTER XII.
BrerRTHA’s DESCRIPTIVE POWERS ARE EXERCISED

CHAPTER XIII.
BERTHA’S BRAVERY

CHAPTER XIV.
Mr. REDMOND STARTLES EDALIA

CHAPTER XV.
3ERTHA TAKES FRENCH LEAVE OF THE SEMINARY .
CHAPTER XVI.
PROVIDENCE SMILES ON OUR HEROINE
CHAPTER XVII.
WALTER ELpon’s ADVENT. — EDALIA’s DREAM
CHAPTER XVIII.
MINNIE’s BRIDAL. — SHE “ SOWETH THE WIND”
CHAPTER XIX.

THE DESERTED HoMESTEAD. — Miss AGNES BENTLEY. —
MINNIE “ REAPS THE WHIRLWIND” 4 .

CHAPTER XX.

Bertsa’s LETTER

CHAPTER XXI.

THE WILD Storm. — EDALIA Is PUZZLED
CHAPTER XXII.
Horacr Stanuorr, —Green-Eves .

CHAPTER XXIII.

A TEMPERANCE LECTURE. — JONEs’s STORE

 

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER XXIV.
LirrLe Cuxaruiz. — “No Horr”

CHAPTER XXV.

Horace STANHOPE’s REPUTATION AMONG HIS RELATIVES

CHAPTER XXVI.
EDALIA BETRAYS HER Secret Sorrow. — WALTER EL-
DON’s CONFESSION . ‘ a ‘ Fi . .

CHAPTER XXVII.
BERTHA RETROSPECTS THE PAST i

CHAPTER XXVIII.

BERTHA’s FRIENDS AND Fors .

CHAPTER XXIX.

EDALIA SURPRISES Mr. RepMonp. — NIGHT - SCENE AT
Jongs’s STORE . . - . : :

CHAPTER XXX.
ALonzo STANHOPE’s VISIT TO BERKSHIRE

CHAPTER XXXI.

“THE Dove HAS RETURNED TO THE ARK”

CHAPTER XXXII.
“A Bap PENNY SURE TO COME BACK.’ —Brrrer Mo-
MENTS. — BERTHA SEES “A FACE” . ‘
CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE Hippen HEART. — EDALIA IS AGONIZED .
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE “FAacE” REPROACHES BERTHA. — GREEN-EYES DE-
FEATED, — CLAUDE BELMONT . n : a

 
 

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER XXXV.

Mr. REDMOND “DIVES TO THE Bottom.” — THE SECRET
StoRY REVEALED , a : 3 ‘ : . 201

PAGE

CHAPTER XXXVI
HorRACE STANHOPE RISKS HIS LIBERTY TO TEST HIS

POWER. — ENVY REJOICES AT CALAMITY

CHAPTER XXXVII.
Horace STANHOPE’s ANTECEDENTS. — ALONZO’S OPINION

oF BERTHA

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THE WEDDING-CAKE. — “ Mars WALLIE’s Goop Luck”

CHAPTER XXXIX.

3ERTHA THE BEAUTY IN BERKSHIRE, MASSACHUSETTS

CHAPTER XL.

BertHa’s LIFE IN BERKSHIRE

CHAPTER XLI.
Horace Sranyope’s Turrp FAILURE. — BERTHA RE-
SOLVES AND EXECUTES

CHAPTER XLII.

BERTHA ABANDONS A JEALOUS TYRANT

CHAPTER XLIII.

Mr. REDMOND susPE¢ TS BERTHA’s SECRET

CHAPTER XLIV.

BrerTHA’s NeRvES RECEIVE A SUDDEN SHOCK

CHAPTER XLV.

“OLD Foiks av Homr.” — BERTHA’S TALENTS DISCUSSE

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER XLVI.
Horace Srannopr’s Divorce, —CLAUDE “TRIES HER

Fair”

CHAPTER XLVILI.
A Srarrnuing Lerrer.—Bertua’s HEART-SECRET IS
EXPOSED . ‘ f

CHAPTER XLVIII.
Consctentious ScRUPLES.— CLAUDE BELMoNT’s Con-
FESSION .

CHAPTER XLIX.

“THE War FOR THE UNION.’ —BERTHA FEARS FOR
CLAUDE , é i ‘ 5 i 7 . :

CHAPTER L.
AFTER THE BATTLE. — UNDER-GROUND MAIL .
CHAPTER LI.
OLD BRoapBRIM ENTERS THE LINES
CHAPTER LII.
Joy anp Sorrow. — BERTHA FINDS WoRK TO DO
CHAPTER LIII.

THE UNEXPECTED MEETING. —THE ENAMORED CHAP-
LAIN . ‘ : ‘ >

CHAPTER LIV.
Horace SraNHOPE CONFESSES TO BERTHA

CHAPTER LV.
Stannope’s MEETING WITH PERCY ORMUND .

CHAPTER LVI.

OLD Frrenps AND WAR-TIMES IN BeRTHA’s EARLY
Home : 5 ‘ ;

 
CONTENTS,

CHAPTER LVIL

THE Last or Fa RTH. — BERTHA’S PRESENTIMENT

CHAPTER LVIII.
SHOULDER-STRAPS AND P

> nl x T 7
RIVATE Caps. — Con, ORMUND BERTH A, THE BEAUTY.
THE BRAVE 3 f

CHAPTER LIX.

Last Scene In BERKSHIRE,

MASSACHUSETTS

: CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER LX.

A Sprepy Reaction, — Tue Lost 1s Founp

‘ BERTHA’S FATHER,
CHAPTER LXI.
Mr. REDMonpD TS THE CaT out.” — Home
?
HoME, THERE’s NO PLAcE LIKE HoME

‘ se, with a lc iazzs g with
I was a low brown house, with a long piazza hung v

. Ba 2 ‘va o's st
SWEET golden jessamines flooding the blue air with fragrance

i ses, violets, sters, and
in early spring; and roses, and violets, and asters,

chrysanthemums blooming about it all the year round, ex-
Cepting the bleak, blossom-blighting months of winter,

There were crimson - fringed maples, and vine - covered
poplars, and broad-leaved sycamores, and acorn-filled oaks,
towering above the low brown house with the long piazza ;
Crowning it with shadows of purple, and pouring cool breezes
into the low wide windows, through all the long sultry
days of faint-hearted summer; and dropping their golden
and crimson leaves and rattling acorns on the moss-covered
shingles, in the sober and sweetly pensive days of autumn.

Set down in a wide green yard, with a wider and greener
garden behind it, was:the low brown house with the long
Piazza, with the deep breezy woodlands belting it like an
emerald ring on a background of blue.

Hard by the low brown house with the long piazza was
the little ‘brown church, with its plain pine benches and
old-fashioned pulpit, all guiltless of paint and odorous of
new timber; with small wooden boxes filled with swamp

2
9 13
2

 
14 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

sand, dotting the clean floor of the country sanctuary, for

the accommodation of tobacco-chewers and benefit of the

sexton — which functionary was the Rey. Dr. Williams,
who was mainly instrumental in the erection of the little
brown church, and from whom, in consequence, it derived
its distinguishing title — WiittaMms’s CHAPEL.

And ‘here was our heroine christened —little golden-
haired, waxen - faced, brown-eyed Bertha Belmont. Like
most heroines, Bertha was a beauty, and poor; but unlike
them, in general, she was not an orphan. Her father was
a Connecticut Yankee, who had wandered away from his
native State (a genuine Yankee characteristic) with a fair
young bride, to North Carolina, and married the mother of
our heroine, after the death of his first wife. Two sons were
born of the first union; a girl and boy of the second.

Mr. Belmont bore the reputation of being “easy as an
old shoe ;” his bump of self-esteem was painfully low. He
had no ambition beyond threadbare breeches and a well-
filled pipe. Six years after the birth of his daughter, Mr.
3elmont left the pleasant town of Williamsville, on the
river Roanoke, where she first opened her brown eyes to the
sunshine and blue skies, and settled down in the low brown
house with the long piazza, twenty-one miles from the place
of her birth, in the dark wild woods.

Born and reared in town, admired by the beaux, and

envied by the belles, in the highest circles of society, Mrs.
Belmont half died of ennut, eleven mortal years, in the
dark, lonely woods of her native Carolina.

Mr. Belmont’s abolition sentiments militated against his
interest in the Southland. They said he sought to apply
the match of Yankee officiousness to the magazine of their
Southern institution ;

but proof was wanting to convict him
of the crime, and ]

1¢ lived unmolested, an object of suspicion.
Mr. Belmont would have be

en wholly neglected by his
neighbors, |

ut for his college education acquired at old

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 15

Yale, which often rendered him necessary to those far his
Superior in wealth. If there was a lawsuit pending, Mr.
Belmont’s advice must be had; if there was a difficulty
among the
was

rustics, Mr. Belmont must arbitrate it: if there
a shower of electricity resembling falling stars, Mr.
Belmont must be aroused at midnight to pacify the panic-
Stricken; if the sun was unusually eclipsed, Mr. Belmont
Must account for the phenomenon on philosophical prin-

Ciples. And so Mr. Belmont was a man of importance

among the aristocracy and democracy, for miles around,

notwithstanding his anti-slavery principles, and the suspi-
cion with which he was regarded.

Whether Mr. Belmont’s abolition sentiments were ever
©xpressed to the prejudice of masters or not, they certainly
Were detrimental to his own pecuniary circumstances ; for
his great sympathy for those in bondage kept his purse in
the last stage of consumption —lean as Pharaoh’s kine; and
the low brown house with the long piazza remained in an
unfinished state eleven long, poverty-pinched years. The
Walls were unplastered, and the wainscot unpainted; and
the means requisite to complete the work went from Mr.
Belmont’s benevolent pocket to fill black mouths with
tobacco and rum, supposed to be for a n

1ore charitable pur-
pose. Mr. Belmont could not say No!

to a twig from an

Ethiopian tree ; and his credulity was astonishing.

His farm of thirty acres was poorly cultivated, for he
Was too tender of Africa to enforce obedience to his com-
mands; while his children and pupils were well thrashed
for any dereliction in duty. His goods were sold on trust
to ebony customers, who never returned an equivalent, and
Who stole from him at night what they had not purchased
“on tick” in the day. But Mr. Belmont pitied the un-
fortunate race, and entered no complaint, but suffered
them to go scot-free. Mr. Belmont failed many times,

4S a merchant, solely through sympathy for the ignorant

 
16 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

and oppressed sons of Ham;
brown house with

while the inmates of the low
the long piazza walked the ways of
humble life, through lack of the scattered and stolen means
that would have elevated them to their rightful position in
refined Southern society.

But Mr. Belmont was a man of sterling integrity and
inflexible probity, :

»and his greatest weakness was that which
kept him poor, and his family in the vale of obscurity.
Mr. Belmont was not adapted, mentally, to the latitude in
which he had located; and his family were the greatest
sufferers, through his mistake in e
overalls, and hay-ricks. He was his children’s teacher; and
not till she had attained the age of fourteen did Bertha
receive instruction from another.

Our heroine had no childhood.
isolated thing from earli

migrating from free soil,

She was a quiet, solemn,
est youth, who read stolen romances
at midnight when her parents were asleep, and dreamed, in
the purple, breezy woods, at noonday and twilight, of the
great gay world afar off, of which she had read.

Bertha
Belmont was a timid, taciturn, and y

isionary child.

 

 

CHAPTER II.

BERTHA’S FRIENDS.

H* ha! — he, he!”

“ What’s the matter, Min?”
S Ha. hat 22 he, he! — Mr. Belmont’s bought a nigger!”
“T don’t believe 15 oe Eg

< : E
“True ag you’re alive! —T saw it done!”

“Well, that shows!

Thought it was against his prin-
ciples.”

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 17

“So ’tis; he did it to oblige the darky. You know Mr.
Wallace is about to move to Tennessee, to join his wife’s

father, and the woman don’t want to go; so, to accommo-
date her

» Mr. Belmont has become her purchaser, through
his wife, He handed the money over to madam, and
Shakes his skirts clean of the great sin of slavery —ha,
ha!—he, he!”
“He’d better have kept the money to finish his house.”
“So, so; but then the poor thing would have to go to
Tennessee against her will.”

“°T would n’t hurt her much, for she has n’t a relative
1 all this section, and she’s rather old to have formed a
romantic attachment.”

“Ha, ha!—he, he! —makes no difference — she don’t

want to go, and that’s enough for Mr. Belmont — he,
he!”

in

“ Hush, you rattlebox ! Well, I hope his poor wife won’t
have to burn her brown eyes out over the kitchen fire any
longer, It’s a shame how that woman does slave from
Morning till night, when her husband’s education is suffi-
Cient to keep them up in the world as high as the wealthiest,
if he had the ambition and self-respect of a Southerner.
Mrs. Belmont was the envy and admiration of the circle in
Which she moved, before her marriage, they say; not rich,
but the adopted daughter of an aristocrat, and might have
done better than become a household and kitchen drudge.
Well, it all comes of marrying a Yankee.”

“Yes; is n’t it astonishing what a difference there is
between the people of the two sections? No more alike
than a French dancing-master and a country bumpkin; or
4 mulatto housemaid and a coal-black ploughboy! Pity,

they don’t stay where they can be appreciated, and marry
among their own people. Mr. Belmont is a good man, as

the world goes, and highly educated; but his poor family is
2* B

 
18 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

dreadfully crushed down by his grovelling nature. Poor
Bertha isn’t a bit like him there. She’s high-minded and
ambitious, as he is low and drageling, and feels her situation
keenly. I’ve seen her cry over the unplastered walls and
tumble-down palings.”

“Yes; but it’s an old saying, and I think a true one,
that ‘strange faces make fools fond.’ ”

“Well, that isn’t saying much for Mrs. Belmont.”

“ Quite as much as she’d say of herself, I reckon.”

“Wonder, if shed try it again, if she were free now.”

“Hm! I should think her fire-faded eyes and burned fin-
gers would be a caution to her in future. What small hands
she has!—a genuine Southern hand — never was meant to
swing pots and kettles. You may tell a Northerner by the
huge size of his hands and feet — ”

“And stiff joints!” interrupted Minnie, with a shrug of
her fair young shoulders.

“There ’s Jim Hanson works in the field like one of his
own slaves during the week, and on Saturday mounts his
glossy steed and goes dashing out to Log Chapel, in broad-

cloth, kid-gloves, and-Southern airs ; while Mr. Belmont, if
he favors his family at all, puts them into an antediluvian
gig and trudges beside it, in well-worn satinet, and with big,
bare hands —augh! And just to think how genteelly they
might live, with his education and income, if he had the
ambition to rise above wash-tubs and pea-planting !”

“Very true. And so he has really purchased a slave?”

“Really, Ed. I was at Mr. Wallace’s when the bargain
was made. Won’t it astonish the natives?”

“With his principles, I should think he would have
given her free papers.”

“Hm! that’s another thing. Dr. Clark says he always
found it to be an easy matter to bury other people’s chil-
dren. Who ever bought negroes for the philanthropic

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 19

purpose of setting them free? Catch me marrying a
Yankee!”

“Or me, Min. Poor Bertha! her chance for it is pain-
fully fair. Her father’s house is the peddler’s home, you
know, and I should n’t wonder if —”

“T know. She’s hardly fourteen, and has n’t finished her
education ; but that peddler Harwood is after her, and if her
father commands it, she 11 marry him, love or no love, for
his word is law under his own roof; and Mr. Belmont has a
Strong partiality for his own people. Poor Bert! I mean
to warn her against marrying a Yankee, with her Southern
taste and temperament — I will!”

This was Mr. Belmont’s reputation among his Southern
neighbors, They abused and ridiculed him for his low liv-
ng, and stood aloof from his family because of its Yankee
head. Mr. Belmont thought but little of their neglect and
reserve, and cared less; forgetting, in his selfishness, that
his wife and daughter were social beings, and suffered from
his indifference,

Bertha had but few friends and associates. At school

She was so envied by the girls, because of the boys’ ad-

"iration of her beauty, that they drew back from the

lonely child, and whispered, malevolently, of her Yankee
Origin,

Edalia Redmond and Minnie Montrose were her fastest
and best-loved friends. Prejudiced against Yankees, they
Pitied the situation of our heroine; and the two girls rarely
met but Mr. Belmont came in for a good share of vitupera-
tion and abuse from their voluble little tongues,

They disliked him for his slovenly style of living and
Well-known principles, as much as they loved Bertha for
her Southern spirit and affectionate disposition ; and though
they were his pupils for several years, Mr. Belmont did
Not succeed in winning the regard of the aristocratic little

 
 

 

 

20 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

friends of his daughter. Bertha would have been lonely
indeed, but for these two girls.

Minnie was motherless, and Edali
of a bachelor uncle—both her p
Their homes were near, and

They were a pretty trio.
a was the adopted child
arents were in their graves.
daily intercourse was the de.
light of these three loving little creatures, as the years rolled
them silently up to womanhood,

CHAPTER III.

JEALOUS. —“ UNCLE NED.”

Ky DIE, Edie! come to trysting-tree!” and the gay girl
clasped Edalia’s: hand and pulled her through the lit-
tle cottage-gate, down to the narrow footpath that sloped

to the clear, cool spring, bubbling and sparkling beneath
the old maple.

It was a sweet May morning. The skies, as they glanced

now and then through a dense foliage of oak-leaves and in-

terlaced limbs, matted and dripping with early dew, looked
blue and smiling «

us the sweet spring violets that peeped up

from velvety ridges of rich moss about the old oak-roots,

and nestled in groups, half hid, among green grass that
edged the wayside.

She was a bright, wild, free thing — Minnie Montrose ;
and her young heart was everlastingly running over with
music and mirth through her beautiful blue eyes and very
rosebud of a mouth.

Minnie lived Just over the way from Edalia’s uncle’s and
Bertha’s home; and last night a bright light had shone
through the windows of Dr. Montrose’s mansion, from

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 21
candle-light till the chime of two; and, nervously, Edalia
had longed for the dawn of day, to get the whole secret from
little, simple-hearted Minnie. And not only this, but she
had dispatched Dinah to the illuminated mansion, with full
instructions to reconnoitre, and so forth, who returned with
the soul-harrowing information that Mr. Charles Chester —
her “Charlie” — was “setten up to Miss Min!”

How jealous she was! —and_ how she watched, from her
chamber-window, with flashing eyes and lip gravitating
toward the sill, till the last spark had gone out in the hall
below, and streamed through the casements of Minnie 8
chamber ; for Charles Chester was her young heart’s earliest
flame, but she had kept the light “under a bushel,” lest it
Should be seen by “all that were in the house;” and now
that he had forsaken her for a brighter, a fairer, and a
Sayer one, she resolved in her heart, on her restless couch
that night, to smother the flame in its hiding-place, or snuff
herself out in the arduous effort —in a word, to conquer or
die! She wrote out in fancy, on the flag of firm resolve, the
Motto that should henceforth be hers : “ Victory or Death !
And after repeating the touching lines of Sir Walter Scott,

5
48 an elegy for Love’s Young Dream —
Sy 10 v -

‘‘ Like the dew on the mountain,
Like the foam on the river,
Like the bubble on the fountain,

Thou art gone, and forever!”

poor, sentimental Edalia Redmond sobbed herself into an
Uneasy slumber.

Unusually early she was up this morning, and at her
Window, looking out for Minnie; but the muslin curtains
that shaded her casements were undrawn, and she knew the
Object of her jealousy had not yet risen. Dispatching
Dinah with a hasty message to the Doctor’s, she descended

 
22 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

to the piazza, where the jessamine vines, laden with bright
blossoms of the richest perfume, were winding and clinging
around the white pillars and dewy eaves, where a little
song-bird had built its nest, and was now busily employed
in carrying food to its unfledged young, whose little open,
golden-lined mouths she could discern, uplifted and piping,
to receive the dainty vermicular morsel.

Mr. Redmond — familiarly called by the young girls of
the neighborhood, “ Uncle Ned,”— crept up behind her, as
she stood watching the callow young, and imprisoned one
of her little ears in each of his big fists.

“ Hey-day, Miss, — early riser! Think you'll find a hus-
band this morning?”

“ What, uncle?”

“Ha, ha, ha! little innocent ! S’pose you don’t know

ra) al : ’ . ¢ .
it’s May-day? Snails don’t crawl this morning, mebby;

and Miss Edalia Redmond isn’t thinking of blue plates
and sifted flour — ha, ha!”

“Uncle! indeed, I wasn’t thinking of that; and now
you remind me, I’ll go right off and ‘scour the plain’ for a
conquest. Won’t you go too, uncle?”

“ P-o-o-h! fiddlesticks ! What d’ye think, Miss? snails
would write in my plate but numbskull! But yonder
comes Miss Minnie in a flurry. She’s off for a snail-hunt,
Ill be bound.”

And, sure enough, yonder did come the light-hearted
maiden, bounding like a fawn down the green lawn, sylph-
like, in her white muslin morning gown and black silk
apron, with its long strings floating out behind like stream-
ers in the breeze; and close astern followed Di, her white
teeth and eyes shining in fine contrast with her smooth
black skin. Edalia was at the gate in a twinkling.

“Success, young ladies!” shouted Mr. Redmond, his
shrill voice following them through the shady woods ; —

my 95
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 3

“success, young-ladies, and don’t forget the sorrows of a
poor old Bach’ /” : :

It was a sweet spot, that by the crystal spring. The roots
of the old spreading tree were cushioned with just the softest
and greenest grass in the world, and spotted over with tiny
white flowers, and blue violets that bent over the edge of
the fairy fountain, and mirrored their meek eyes in its cool,
clear depths, And over the little silvery rill that trickled
from the fountain-urn, and erept along the white channel
with a musical murmur, was the dark old pond, environed
by a thick emerald belt of whortleberry and honeysuckle,
Covered with bloom and golden-winged bees, humming and
buzzing in their fragrant cells. And then a world of music
floated up from the deep purple behind the hedge, from the
clear throats of a thousand morning birds, flitting and
chirping, and shaking their glossy wings in exuberant joy,
all through the cool shadows of the wild old pond.

The two girls dropped in beautiful abandon upon the
green grass, and sat a while in silence; they were thinking
of one who was wanting to complete the charm — lovely
Bertha Belmont. And where was Bertha?

CHAPTER IV.
MINNIE’S CONFESSION. —-THE PRISONER.
7 QU won’t laugh, Edie, if I tell you?” queried Minnie,
looking roguishly up into her companion’s sober eyes.
; oS f=]

“Not if I know it, Min,’— but she did laugh for very
Spite,

Minnie clasped her small hands together right suddenly,

 
24 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

and a merry peal rang musi sally from her red mouth.
Edalia was irritated. She said:

“In the name of sense, Minnie, are you growing wild?”

“T believe I am; but it’s so laughable to think that I—
let me seé—just sixteen — am going to be married!”

Edalia started up, horror-struck.

“Married! To whom?”

“Why, Charley, child; dear, handsome Charley Chester,
that I’ve worshipped from a wee bit of a thing. Don’t you
envy me?”

A sort of disappointed grunt escaped Edalia’s vexed and
jealous heart.

“Hm! I wish you joy of your prize, and hope your
matrimonial bower may ever be as green as the age in
which you are going to enter it!”

“Green!” and Minnie raised her sweet blue eyes with a
quizzical expression. “I wonder what Walter would say to
hear that! Would n’t we have a coroner’s inquest over his
unfortunate self right early, and a verdict rendered of
‘Death voluntary’?”

“Then he may die, for all I care! I’m certain I would n’t
marry Walter Eldon to save him from hanging !”

Minnie’s eyes dilated with astonishment, for the truth
was, to conceal her partiality for Charles Chester, Edalia
had long permitted the supposition that Walter Eldon was
the “one bright, particular star” that guided her along
life’s troubled sea, like the poor bird that affects distress to
decoy adolescence from its little nest-home in the grass;
and now that the lure had been effectual, she had suddenly
spread her unbroken wings and darted away, when all
imagined the victim was sure. A faint shade came over
Minnie’s bright face.

“Why, Edie Redmond! You won’t reject Walter Eldon?
Poor Wallie, it would break his heart!” and something

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 25
i

ike the tiniest sparkle of a dewdrop shone in her young
eyes

“ P-o-o-h, Min — ‘fiddlesticks!’ — as uncle would say,—
hearts don’t break so easily. They are only a troublesome
’ppurtenance of the ‘mortal coil,’ fixed in the human
breast by retributive power; a strange, incomprehensible,
unfathomable structure — whalebone and India rubber —
elastic ag fancy, and strong as misfortune; it won’t break
when you ’d have it, and more’s the pity! ”

The young girl gazed long in her companion’s flashing
*ye, without a word; the truth was, surprise deprived her
of speech. At length she said:

“Edie, you used to confide in me; won’t you tell me your
Sorrow now ? ”

“Sorrow!” —and Edalia laughed gaily, by way of dis-
S¢ mbling, *“ You don’t deem me capable of feeling a deeper
“orrow than the loss of a friend and companion from the
“unny shore of celibacy into the wide rolling ocean of
matrimony would occasion? Won’t I be lonely when you
are buried ?”

Minnie twisted her white, bare arms around her friend’s
neck, with another merry peal that startled the birds from
their leafy nooks.

“Q-o-h, is that all? Then, cheer up, Edie, and don’t
lengthen out your phiz to such deacon-like dimensions; for
Charley is to live with papa, and his bride will be found of

I

idie aa often and as near as before she assumed so weighty
& responsibility.
your feet

But see here, Edie, there’s a snail just at
5 , and, though I did n’t think of it before, this is the
first of May; so secure the prize, and let’s consult the
oracle with reference to your future destiny, for if you won’t
have Walter —”

a Plague take Wall, and the snail too!” ejaculated
Edalia, peevishly, and had well-nigh landed the poor thing

°°

 
26 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

in the pond-waves, in her impetuosity ; but fortunately for
her hid

den heart, she thought of the absurdity of such an
act, and what fancies it

and so she forbore.

Carefully lifting the white
timidly coiled up inside,
bathed their faces in the
the cottage,

Jovial Mr, Redmond was lounging in the piazza, and
peeping through the vines towards the gate. The old
gentleman poked his round, good-natured face through a
loophole made by his two hands amid the leaves and blos-
soms, and shut one eye at the maple-leaf in his niece’s hand.

“ Hey-day, Miss, scared ’im up, did ye?”

“No, indeed, uncle; he scared me up. Like a true lover,
the thing came and humbled himself in the grass at my
feet ; and so to imitate the example of the good, ‘he was a
stranger and I took him in.’”

“Ha, ha, ha! capital, by Jupiter! But, see here, Miss
Minnie, where’s your bug ?”

“Could n’t catch him, Uncle Ned. Snails all know when
May-day comes, and having
like some corre 1
— they hide
but this poor

might awaken in Minnie’s mind;

shell, with its worm-treasure
upon a maple-leaf, the two girls
cool spring waters, and started for

a radical aversion to writing,—
spondents who ‘ hate the very sight of a pen,’
away in their dens till the danger is past; all
novice, whose temerity will surely cause him
to be laid on the table.”

“Oh, blast the things! you did n’t look!”

“Why no, Uncle Ned, I didn’t much. The truth is,”

and she glanced coyly at the old bachelor, “I know my
fortune, and ask no snail-prognostications.”

“Oh-ho! that’s it! And so the question’s popped, eh?
Pll bet two chines

; apins, the stopper flew out in the moon-
shine last night, and spilt every drop of the boy’s timidity,

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 27

eh, Min?” and he chucked her egg-shell chin, and laughed
complacently.

“But see here, Miss Redmond, you ain’t going to be
beat ?”

“Why not, uncle? I’d like to know if Edward Red-
mond, Esq., wasn’t beat in his young day?”

“Oh, hang it! Catch me going down on my foot-handle-
hinges to any female-woman, so long as I can take care of
myself; unless Miss Bertha will have me, when she comes
back. But you, Ed, want a protector.”

 

CHAPTER V.
MR, PETERROY SIMPKINS OF PETUNIA PARK.

UT you, Ed, want a protector,” repeated Mr. Redmond;

for Edalia’s thoughts had wandered away to distant

Bertha, at her uncle’s allusion, and she failed to respond
with characteristic quickness.

“And have n’t I one in my worthy uncle? I.’d like to
know that.”

“ Fiddlesticks! But I’m an old man now, and who’ll
Care for Edalia when I put out for ‘parts unknown,’ so
Well as handsome Peterroy Simpkins of Petunia Park?”

Minnie sprang to her feet and screamed with merriment
at this allusion, and well she might; for said Peterroy — or
Peter, as he was christened and called to Peter’s indigna-
tion—was moulded much after the fashion of a rolling-pin,
t.€. little at both ends, and big in the middle. Peter was
decidedly dumpy — in fact, a globose lump of mortality;
and had his equilibrium been upset on the brow of a hill, he

 
28 BERTHA, THE B BAUS Ss
would probably have revolved in any position to the bottom
as easy as a football. Peter was emphatically round, and
might have sat in one of Shakspeare’s ‘Ages’ for the ‘Alder-
man’s’ portrait.

His unde rstanding was incontrovertibly capacious, that

is, so far as his boots were concerned ; said boots being some
inches longer than the generality of boot-jacks ever came
in contact with. In fact, one of Mr. Redmond’s carpenters
once attempted to pick up Peter’s foot for a shingle!

His head was round, too, and so little that his shiny silk

hat, which under other circumstances might have seemed

important, disdained to look dignified on so insignificant a
caput, and slunk down obsequiously upon his shoulders.

His hair was rather light —that is to say, on the shady side
of a nankeen; and each particular hair stuck “ closer than
a brother” to its fellow-sufferer, cemented in bonds of ten-
derest friendship by a daily and liberal application of castor
oil. It curled, too, said hair did — thanks to sundry bits of
paper that each morning appeared on Mr. Peterroy’s toilet-
table, in one round, full, golden roll, far below an attic-story
shirt-collar that gloried in a vast quantity of starch and
indigo, and stood up stiffas a college student, above his two
little stingy-looking auditories that never were permitted to
rejoice in the luxury of a grateful breeze.

His face was round, rough, and ruddy; flanked on both
sides by a sparse “ free-soil ” growth of rose-colored whis-
kers; and in tl

‘

1€ northern section of the middle was located
“spirit-stirring” nose, that had evidently been taught
from childhood to “hope on, hope ever;” for under all
circumstances,

a

and in every trying vicissitude, said nose
was observed to be always cheerfully looking up.
His eyes were of an indescribable sandy and gray hue,

and glittered under his short golden lashes like two stars
on a frosty night.

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 29

But Peter was a man of extraordinary equanimity, inde-
pendence, and unchangeableness ; for Edalia could not re-
member the time, she declared, when his present pair of
inexpressibles had a predecessor. In fact, they had evidently
known the “growth of ages,” or else shrunk up with fear
during the horrors of the Revolution, judging from the
amplitude of exposed leather at the nether extremity of
his person, to which Peter’s pants absolutely refused to do
justice, ;

Such and so “handsome” was the individual referred to
by Mr. Redmond as a suitable personage to assume the
guardianship of his luckless niece after his anticipated de-
mise. Truth to say, said Adonis had, from time to time,
evinced a right good will to lay claim to said title, in-
duced so to do, doubtless, by an avaricious survey of her
uncle’s broad acres and solitary heir, and presuming upon
his own “chattels, personal and real estate,”— which con-
sideration was a prop to Peter’s chin, and the rod and staff
that comforted him under circumstances of so peculiar a
lack of personal attractions; and none could boast of a more
erect and dignified gait, or higher bared his brow to drink
the essence of the golden day, than Mr. Peterroy Simpkins,
of Petunia Park, as Peter’s paternal residence was aristo-
cratically styled.

Peter’s parents were of the most plebeian origin; but
fortune’s wheel had turned them over to wealth inherited

from a distant relative when their only heir was ten years

old;

and thereupon Peter’s homespun name was elongated
by that self-sufficient young gentleman to render it more
Stylish, and his juvenile lordship put on airs to comport
With his altered circumstances. Peter took to aristocracy as
naturally as a duck to water. Unfortunately, in an evil
hour for Edalia, she had touched some tender chord in
Peter’s sensitive soul, judging from the swell that upheayed
3*

 
30 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

his linen bosom, producing a tergiversation among its
crimped frill, and communicating the electric thrill to the
golden roll that lay upon his coat-collar. Thereafter Peter
was the great bugbear of her existence.

Minnie’s face finally smoothed soberly down, after the
outburst occasioned by Mr. Redmond’s remark, and she
said, demurely :

“T am greatly indebted to you, Uncle Ned, for this
insinuation; it explains Ed’s aversion to a union we have
long considered inevitable, from past premonitions — poor
Walter!”

“Poor Walter!” echoed Uncle Ned, with a face elongated
to all possible dimensions, “ Well, there’s no contending
successfully against fate. Marriages, they say, are made in
heaven, and that’s why the girls sometimes fly off like a
parched pea just before the knot is tied; they get in the
wrong pew at the beginning. ‘Fantastic as a woman’s
mood,’ wrote Scott. I used to think he was a confounded
old churl for it; but ‘the man’s the gowde for a’ that,’ and
knew more of the creature’s nature than the old bachelor.
Girls are just like kittens — they ’ll purr and look amiable,
so long as you ll pat ’’em and smooth ’em; but cross ’em a
bit, and their dander is ‘ riz’, like a yeast-loaf laid over till

morning, and their claws into you like all possessed |”

CHAPTER VI.
THE BREAKFAST-TABLE DISCUSSION.

or WALTER! And so you ’ve had a lover’s quar-

rel, eh, Ed? Scratched him and quit, and turned over
to Peter? Well, well, girl, what is to be will be, and I’ll

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 31

bet two chincapins the bug has writ P S in the plate, and
we'll have a wedding here before shortly, and beat Min
yet — won’t we, Ed?”

Edalia could have cried for spite and vexation; but
Smothering down the young voleano just ready to burst
through a mountain of indignation, she said, with forced
calmness and a spice of vindictiveness :

“T dare say we shall, uncle, if you and widow Wilmer
resolve.to ‘live and love together’ before September. Min-
nie offers herself as a sacrifice upon the hymenial altar at
the glorious autumn time — poor thing!”

“Widow Wilmer! thunder! Why hang —I mean, bless
the girl! You don’t think I’m going to commit matrimony?
I’d as lief stick my head in a hornet’s nest, — blamed if I
would n’t! Widow Wilmer — thunder!”

“ Well, so I think, uncle. One may find an antidote for
the poison of a winged insect, but there ’s no balm in
Gilead for a matrimonial sting, and I have no idea of sub-

Jecting myself to its horrors. ‘After you’ is manners for
me, uncle, and I mean to follow in the footsteps of my illus-

”

trious predecessor.

“And die an old maid? I’ll see you hanged first!” and
the old gentleman snapped his eyes and fingers by way of
€m phasis.

“<<

3ut I don’t want to marry, uncle.”

“Sin and sixty!—don’t believe a word of it! There
never was a girl yet who didn’t ‘live and move and have
her being’ in matrimonial speculations. Woman was made
to marry, — man wasn’t so much,”

“Very probable, uncle; when the Creator said, ‘It is not
good for man to be alone,’ and gave him Eve to render him
perfect. And besides, I like to know whom she’s going to
Marry,”

“Yes, there you are at the catch; but I say, wasn’t he

 
BERTHA » THE BEAUTY.

‘perfect,’ after it? If Adam had lived an old bachelor like
me, he might have been in t}

1e garden of Eden yet, sur-
rounded by angels — just as I

an Bed

“Many thanks for the compliment, Uncle Ned,” said
Minnie; “but I venture to say, if God had made the
prohibition to Adam alone, he would h
without any temptation from the

could have offered no plea in e

ave eaten the fruit
serpent, and consequently
xtenuation of his crime.”
“Just so, Min,” ejaculated Edalia. “The Creator knew
woman’s credulity, and man’s

irreverent daring, and to
avert the calamity of wilful

and unpardonable disobedi-
ence, He made the surpassing loveliness of Eve a palliative
for man’s transgression, and so |

aid the burden of his sin at
the door of Satan.”

Oh. blast the—I mean, bless the girls! there ’s no sense
or reason in’em! When you think you ’ve got ’em, they ‘ll
slip through your fingers with a contemptible hypothesis.
Right or wrong, there’s no holding ’em. But there’s the
bell, so let’s leave fancy and take to reality;” and they all
sat down to breakfast.

“T wish Bertha was here,” said Minnie.

“So do I!” cried Edalia.

“And I!” added Mr.

“Me too!”
chair,

Redmond.

Ld ’
whispered Di, behind her young mistress's

And where was our heroine? Away up in the western

part of Carolina, at La Violet Seminary.

“ Bert will make a splendid woman, with her rare beauty,

and the education Belmont d
Mr. Redmond.

i she of Seats
esigns giving her,” continued

“But I’m afraid it will all be thrown away on some

Yankee peddler,” added Minnie, with a curl of her red lip.

“T hope not, I hope not! Bertha is too sensible to do a
foolish thing,” the old gentleman spoke, warmly.

, 9
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 33

“She ’ll do just as her father says, that’s certain ; — his
Will ‘is law in the low brown house With: the long piazza.
He won't let het wear ‘a’ bit “of jewelry, and wants her to
learn to cook, scrub, spin, and so forth, as the red-handed
girls do where he came from; but Mrs. Belmont eee
to keep her out of the kitchen. He’s tooth and toenail
against aristocracy. Hm! I wish he had me to deal with!
and Minnie’s cherry lip curled more scornfully over her cup
of fragrant mocha.

“Just as the twig is bent the tree’s inclined” He has
his peculiar sectional notions, but is evidently proud of his
daughter, though he makes but little show of affection: that

is a Northern characteristic. They make it a point to conceal

warm feeling beneath a cold surface ; ‘ pity ’t is, ’t is true. i
“Well, td's want to be loved under an iceberg!
chimed in Edalia. “If I can’t feel the sunshine, it won’t
warm me, and might as well be under a cloud, so far as my
Physical comfort is concerned,”

« Mr. Belmont is a noble-hearted man, say what they will
of his Yankeeism,” continued Uncle Ned, apologetically ;
“a more obliging neighbor, or honester mortal, don’t tread
Southern soils Himself is his worst enemy. Hell lend
when he needs the articles himself; and if they ’re lost or
destroyed, he sets it down to fortuitous circumstances, and
demands no indemnification. He’s credulous and easy, to
the injury of his family. The great pity is, that he married
a Southern wife, and expects her to imbibe his Northens
principles, ‘When you dre in Rome, do as Rome does,’ is
&n ancient maxim that ought to be respected ; but Belmont
treats it with disdain. He thinks he’s right, and is as stub-
born as that new mule I bought last week — hang ’im ! —
the mule, I mean. Ill bring ’im into the traces, or break
his neck, by Jupiter !—TI mean the mule.” a

“Twish you had the same authority over Bertha’s father,

Cc

 
 

34 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

Uncle Ned,” said Minnie, laughing; “it’s a sin and a

shame to crush that poor child down so with his low-minded
Northernism, when they might stand so high in the com-
munity. Why, he might easily be elected to Congress or
the Legislature, if he had the ambition to aspire. He has
sent her to the Seminary to prepare her for the drudgery of
a teacher, they say — poor Bert! ”

“TI don’t believe it,” replied Uncle Ned, with an indig
nant thump of his fist upon the table.

 

CHAPTER VII.
THE BUG ORACLE.

| 5 Mr. Redmond and Edalia sat upon. the piazza that

evening, and the last beams of the setting sun slanted

over the eaves, and lay in bright gold bars among the green

grass, he said, suddenly ;

“TI say, Ed, time to look after your bug, eh? If the thing
can’t write PS in a whole da

y, why, then I say blast it!
Where’s Min?”

Di was a second time dispatched to the mansion, and

soon its young mistress was observed posting over the green,

with parted lips and mirthful eyes, swinging her straw flat
most unmercifully by one string, in
as she expressed it, “the

anticipation of seeing,
elephant.”

In solemn Indian file they marched down the long hall
towards the pantry, where
directions, Aunt Cora, the
on a blue plate,

, in obedience to Mr. Redmond’s
cook, had placed the shell-bug
thinly sifted with flour, with another plate

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

turned bottom up, over that, to prevent its escape ; and
above all was smoothly spread a snowy napkin. '

Slowly and solemnly they marched; first, the squire,
with a face that would have done infinite credit to any
judge in Christendom —a face, in fact, that looked like a
long ‘exclamation-point placed bolt upright after the word
matrimony !?

Second, Min, with one corner of an embroidered pocket-
handkerchief just visible between her red lips; the rest had
all gone inside, and served as a sort of hatch to keep down
the upgushings of a gleeful soul, that so longed to vent
itself in merry peals, the tears actually stood in her eyes.

Third, Edalia, with a face as solemn as her uncle s, and a
Compression of the small mouth that savored of vexation.

And lastly came Di, her great optics, like cotton-blossoms,
well spread, shining over her mistress’ shoulder, with the
thumb and forefinger of the right hand compressing her
olfactories, while the other hand performed the same office
for her lips, so as to suppress the smallest possible symptom
of a titter.

After fumbling in a prodigiously deep pocket, that was,
in truth, a regular curiosity shop, Aunt Cora drew forth a
key, and throwing the bolt, they all entered the hall of in-
quisition. Ranging themselves around the table, a dead

Silence of a moment ensued.
down,

Even Minnie’s face smoothed
Mr. Redmond folded his arms, and, with deep
solemnity, asked :

“Who ’ll say grace?”

The floodgates of Minnie’s risibility broke down here,
and the tide of merriment came, in a rush, through her
round open mouth. Di dropped on her knees, and out of
Tespect for her master crawled under the table to give vent
to her feelings in characteristic antics, Choking down the
world of mirthfulness inspired by the ludicrousness of the
Scene, Edalia said, with astonishing gravity :

 
36 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

*T will, uncle,”
‘ou, madcap? Well, go it, boots!”

*Oh, Guardian Genius, I thank thee, for the loving caré
and tender mercies vouchsafed to me, from the earliest
dawn of my existence to the present hour; and humbly
beseech a continuation of thy goodness, O Ruler of my
destiny! especially in the foreshadowing of coming events;
from the smooth surface of this blue plate! Grant, O Guar
dian Genius, to infuse into this ‘lively oracle’ a spirit of
prescience, that the veil of futurity may be drawn aside, and
the golden glow of its deep and marvellous mysteries reveal
the hidden things of Fate from the smooth surface of this
blue plate! Calmly and confidently I submit my destiny
to thy wisdom; and with whomsoever thou shalt choose (sav@
one) will I run with patience the race that is set before me!
But, O Guardian Genius! by the memory of what has beet,
and the certainty of what will be, don’t say — Peter!”

“ Ha, ha, ha!—don’t say Peter! Good, by Jupiter !—
hanged if it isn’t! Lord, give us grace! Ha, ha! he
he-e-e!” roared Mr. Redmond, rubbing his hands in excess
of delight, and accidentally treading on Di’s toes, that pro
truded from under the table; which casualty produced 4
much higher key-note in her music, and somewhat modi
lated the velocity of his movements.

“But hark ’e, young ladies, I
PS and the bug, notwithstanding

}
>

go two chincapins of

ait wondrous gift t?
Ed, if I lose — so let ’s see ;” and he exposed the poor snail
snugly coiled up on the rim of the plate, with a trail ex
tending from the bottom, and a multiplicity of lines draw?
upon the white surface by the helpless captive, in its effort
to escape its close prison, probably.

Mr. Redmond and Minnie bent oyer it with the liveliest

interest, her eyes twinkling like stars, with fun and expee
tation.

BERTHA » THE BEAUTY. 3

Edalia was apparently indifferent, but in reality would
have given very much to see what alphabetical characters
the traces most resembled ; for, having been left an orphan,
in infancy, and reared in the arms of Africa’s descendants,
it was but natural to suppose she had imbibed a consider-
able quantum of superstition inherent in that race; and
though she could not reconcile it with more enlightened
understanding and powers of reasoning upon natural prin-
ciples, that a worm should be prophetic of future results,
yet so repeatedly had she listened to the recital of marvel-
lous events treasured up in the storehouse of these unsophis-
ticated and credulous people’s retentive memory, and so
redundant was her imagination, that it subjugated her rea-
soning faculties, and she could scarcely separate what she
heard from what she fancied, and consequently could hardly
Persuade herself that they were less than real.
the effect of association.

Judge,
heart,

Such is

then, of the mighty palpitations of her anxious
when Minnie exclaimed, with a scream of delight:

‘ ? > . aT 2

‘I’ve found it, Ed! —an § as true as fate!” and she

Clasped her small white hands, while a gush of merriment

followed the announcement ; then, with a rueful countenance,
she added, pityingly :

‘ Wat a 3 : r
“Poor Edie! it’s almost as bad as marrying a Yankee!”

CHAPTER VIII.

MR. SIMPKINS VISITS MISS REDMOND.

WON’T have him, I’ll die first,” ejaculated Edalia,
in the excitement of the moment.

“A ; ;
Good !—ha, ha! — glory in your spunk!” responded
4

 
38 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

Uncle Ned; “but there’s no use contending against fute;
and if the bug says ‘ Peter,’ why, so itll be —that’s all.
But, Min, it seems to me these bows are out of joint — both
turn one way — bless my eyes if it isn’t an E!” yelled
the old gentleman, clapping his hands with a rousing re
port; “and here’s something ahead looks decidedly like #
W —four slantendicular lines met in two points at the
bottom. W E— Walter Eldon — ha, ha! hanged, if it ain't
— by Jupiter!”

Edalia bent over the object of inspection, and entered
into a critical examination.

Sure enough, there were tw?
rough-hewn, skeleton initials approximating the form and
seeming of a W E as nearly as she could conceive it po*
sible to be produced by aught so inexperienced in the art

of caligraphy as the poor prisoner in “durance vile”
before her.

“Well, Ed,” said Mr. Redmond, “might as well begin @
bury the hatchet — you and Wall —for the decree has gon®
forth. The bug says, ‘ Walter Eldon, thou art the man "9

Edalia was brimful of spite, and it only required this
spark of satire to ignite her mental magazine. She retorted:

“The bug has been unjustly arraigned before the bar of
reason, and common sense renders a verdict of ‘not guilty
of the grievous charge of prescience ; and I hereby declaré
it as my avowed and positive belief, that, so far as evidence?
is relied upon, adducible from these hieroglyphic substan
tiations, Edward Redmond, LL.D., has alone had a hand
in it.”

“I? —hang me by the ears to the new moon, if I’vé
seen the confounded plate since the bug landed in the meal!
I had a hand in it! — Saucy minx! I’m right glad now
you ’ve got to have ’im! ”

“Got to have him!
Says :

Please your honor, Mr. Shakspear?®
oT Rye e «
There’s a divinity that shapes our ends, rough

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 39

hew them as we will. You or the bug have cast my
future in rather a rude mould: but determination has
effected many a triumph over implied fate; and as I’ve
heard you say, uncle: Quid homo fecit faciat. I’m invin-
cibly resolved that the prediction of this bug-oracle shall
never be verified, — for have him Iwill not!”

Aunt Cora, who had evidently heard the discussion, here
popped her black head into the pantry.

“Kil Lor’ bless your heart, honey; ’tain’t no use
talkin’ — you ’s gwine to have Mars Wallie jes’ as certen as
day-brake! I never node snails ter fail yit. Dey seems to
know perzactly what’s gwine on in heab’n, for when ole
Missis was a little gal like you —”

“dalia stayed not to hear the interesting narrative of
Aunt Cora, but hasted off to the parlor, where her laughing
uncle and amused Minnie soon joined her.

“Tat, rat, bang!” went the door; and Di bounded to
admit the visitor.

“T°ll bet two chincapins that’s Peter!” said Mr. Red-
mond, rubbing his hands with delight. “It thunders up
Olympus just like ’im! Miss Minnie, you do the amiable,
for Ed’s mad as a hornet, and stingy as old cider. But
Peter ’I] palaver ’er, to kill — hark !”

“Bon soir, mesdemoiselles ; je suis charme de voir ; comment
vous portez vous ?”

Minnie responded :

“ Tres bien, je vous remercie, Monsieur.”

Peter went on, addressing himself to Mr. Redmond:

“Monsieur Redmond, je suis bien aise de vous voir en
bonne santé, Que dit on de nouveau ?”

“ Confound your Choctaw lingo!” ejaculated Uncle Ned,
his eyes snapping with mirth; “talk plain English to a
plain man, and the deuce take your hypherlut’n | ”

“Esquire Redmond, I most importunately implore your

 
40 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

most gracious :

é

: bo as Oo eg -emedit
ind magnanimous lenity for this unpreme
tated innoxious introduction of Mr.

Bolmar to your uncom
prehensive scholastic

acquirements.

The world, sir, ha
experienced the mighty

evolutions of a redintegrative 7
: > P -Tat=% >, . © €
cess since the halcyon days of your adolescence; an
solicit the condescending e

> ay {On
xtension of your clemency 10
this irrefragable e
S

vidence of its commendatory renoyatiol
and marvellous tergiversation. I simply expressed .
ostensible and unadulterated gratification to behold ye
luxuriating in circumstances incontrovertibly ahora
and propounded the interrogatory in the Hannan sonia
euphonious dialect of trans-atlantic France, with immedi
reference to the oscillating on dits of Madam Rumor, met
torious of communication,” cae
“Ah, take a seat, Mr. Simpkins, — take a seat. Tham
you; I’m in statu quo, as you perceive. News? aye,
a bit that may, perhaps, be highly entertaining

: 7 7 oi : 5% 6 inde
to one in your present interesting situation I mean,
pendent bachelorhood.”

Minnie smile

have news —

ik . we ick clustel®
d mischievously behind her thick a
> ys CHa Ye sr uncle
of golden. brown curls, and Edalia signified to her ur
by unmistakable gesture

tion of the day’s adventure — but to no purpose.
The old gentleman e

: ° yi
4s, her disapprobation of an expo

ontinued, with a malicious leer:

“By the way, Mr, Simpkins, the young ladies and you
humble servant have, to-day, been impanelled to sit oP
a deceased anchorite ; and, after mature deli f
eration and much consultation, finally rendered a verdit

. . : : ; effort at chir
of ‘death from Over-exertion in an arduous effort at chi
graphy!”

the body of

“ Marvellous mystery!”

7 jo ms rellowW
enunciated Peter, his pale yello
uriosity. “ Esquire Redmond, pray

3 as 99
ference to this incongruous affair.
ended, sir, by the most ordinary cap

eyebrows arching with ¢
enlighten me with re
“ Readily compreh

ITY 41
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

, rs ] ates, and
city Simply suggestive of shell-bugs, blue pl pa
sifted flour,” poy

r his se, str y, alter
Mr. Redmond sneezed, and blew his nose, oe y,?
= . ‘nile sate 1e expres-
this confession, and Mr. Peterroy failed to catch t I
sion of his convulsed countenance. a ae
Peter pressed one delicate hand that sported ¢ g
” : x ‘his white vest, anc
ficent diamond, upon the left pocket of his — dere

i > ar y re re
shook the golden roll upon his coat-collar, with a ¥ g
bow, as he replied : :

ah foreshs yer of
‘air ladies have consulted the foreshadower
“ Ah, the fair ladies hs mpm atege se
coming events relative to affairs Sepa e () - a —
- : P vet 1 © AW ay’ ll 4 1e e-
State conterminous upon that of celibacy. Pt : poi
; » © > ie 28 4
quivocal expression of an ebullient hope, that t e a
i rc sive slectable
the investigation has been highly conducive to de if
Sime. ‘the angelic experimenters.
inspirations, in the pure hearts of the ang e3 awe
Mr. Redmond’s handkerchief was again brough
isiti y he direction in which the young
requisition, as he observed the direc
gentleman’s eye wandered; and recovering
its friendly folds, he proceeded : : ad
t sta yond question, Mr. Simpkins ;
“Perfectly satisfactory, beyond que: i :
' ¥ Ve i2°s sedate face ne
in proof of which see Miss Edalia’s sedate face. oung
i septive creatures, so far as the
ladies, sir, are terribly deceptive f F

gravity behind

; oe pate vaviably

chief end and aim of their life is concerned, and inv arial ly
7 : ste ; in

usurp the prerogative of a holy deacon, when most unfit,

: el ‘ ter 7. nidens natu-
mals in his capacity ‘ust me, sir, maidens n¢
feeling, to act in his capacity. Trust 1 par aa
rally resort to demureness to conceal some covert anc gta
fied emotion.” =

: pal cee rehended the motive
Edalia glanced at the speaker, comprehended tl he

: rrew hastily communicative.
that impelled the speech, and grew hasti J + 12 phaeieaeaens
But Peter was deluded and entrapped, in seinen y
< “4 " > (ia
* “ io s phrases of facetious Uncle

and bigotry, by the ambiguous pl 1

Ned.
4%

 
BERTHA, THE BEA LY.

CHAPTER IX,

PETER GETS SACKED.
IVHE old clock in

Redmond rose,
home.

the corner chimed eleven, and Mr.
at a signal from Minnie, to escort her
They vouchsafed Edali
they passed out,

She was alone with Peter,
hearth, and the tie
in the profound
parture,

Ts : . SN Boe 4 1 j n-
“ Will Miss Edalia condescend to inform me of the ir

2 ba eias 2 greeted
port of the bug-oracle’s communication ?” at length g
her nervous senses,

a one backward glance as

The cricket chirped on the
k, tick of his repeater was distinctly heard,
silence that reigned supreme, after their de-

Edalia evaded the inquiry,

and he dropped heavily at
her feet, upsetting

4n ottoman in his downward progress,
Submitting tacitly to the de

tention of both hands, the
amused maiden

listened patiently to an elaborate declara-

‘ Seo > Piaget srlarded with
tion, composed principally of polysyllabics, interlarded y
French, and termin

parenthesis !

If the bug h
speedily have be

Peter retired
at the rejection
while Edalia Ww
lurking in the

ating with two exclamation-points in

ad written P § in the plate, it would very

€n proven a “false prophet.” utr a

in high dudgeon and no little mortification
of the suit of his consequential lordship ;
ent up to her chamber, with a quiet smile
corners of he
brance of the recent ludicrous scene.

Her eyes fel] upon a letter,
and as the supe

r small mouth at the remem-

as she approached the bureau,

ere 0 cirl
rscription met her view, the young. gi

Sta 43
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

‘ xxclamation that
; i sith ¢ voluntary exclamatio
caught it up hastily, with an involu J
™ i ing it on the hearth-rug.
aroused Di, who was napping Miss Ed?”
at ’s de matter, Miss Ed?
“ Lordy, massy! what’s do mat “ee at caves
“When did this come? W hy did n’t you te
questions in one breath. sa]
: ; sr sleepy eyes with
“Oh lordy !” whined Di, rubbing her sleepy eye
, dy !
both hands .
as: nalle over for
OF fh. it, Miss Ed. Mars Belmont called me Ov ,
orgot it, Miss Ed. AiG ti news nk furgot it
it when you was at tea, an’ I brung I sissies saps
? Ta iss Ed! He said the mail got in late
— deed I did, Miss Ed ! Se
usual,”

i : ing! ’s from
“Now you have done it, you mean thing! It’s
Bertha and <=”
es ls ar hands
“Oh, goody!” Di leaped up and clapped her hands,
Jh, y!
With a broad grin, bs
a init ’t see it now till morning! You ought
And Minnie can’t see it B
e | ”
to be ashame of yourself’! : !
. eae : ‘ is Mi 3s Ed ! " and Di looked
“I’m rale sorry — deed I is, Miss E api
i ‘ y istress kindly answered he
SO penitent that her young mistress ives
i 4 ee é 28S .
inquiries respecting the writer’s health, a f 2 s
’ in; whie yas by no
and then bade her go to sleep again; which Di was "
means slow in doing. 4
Edalia’s countenance changed many times during the
“dalia’s {
indignant : 7 com-
perusal. Now it was solemn, then indignant; how
diag: ‘uri it was white and stern, then
Passionating, then furious; now it was white and stern,
a deep flush of evident anger swept over it ia gathite
ir y ‘as x 1e Ss >
She started up suddenly, firmly grasping Pes. ,
j A stré might have
and left the chamber noiselessly. A pare rie : : : adn
7 Ons rate 1e ‘
read the kindness of her heart in the consi er ute fe ge)
i servi arse-graine;
forbore to disturb a slumbering servant. Ping S 8 ‘ ‘
i 5 ings may be known by the
ill-natured, and selfish beings may be y
heavy step
Hi’ g irs swiftly, ¢ apped
“dalia went down the long stairs swiftly, and tap}
4G a z

softly at her uncle’s chamber-door.

 
44 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“ Hallo!” cried a voice inside.

“ Have you retired, uncle?”

“ Not exactly — got one leg out yet!”

“T want to come in, please.”

“You do?— what the deuce! Well, hold on there till
I slip into this wrapper. There, (throwing open the door,)
could n’t wait till morning to consult me about marrying
Peter, eh?”

“ Now don’t, please! I’m just as mad as Tucker, Uncle
Edward, and I can’t sleep a wink till I’ve stirred up your
ire too.”

“A most charitable design, by Jupiter! Now St. Felix
defend me from the witch! She’s run stark mad, and
mebbe may bite!—can’t sleep a wink, and comes dow!

here white as a ghost, to scare me out of my dreams! What

the deuce is it, child?”

“T’ve got a letter from Bertha, uncle.”

“Ha, ha, haw! —is that all, you torment! Blamed if
I didn’t think you’d got the hydrophoby, or some other
rabid disease, from the shine of your eyes — ha, haw! Well,
what the mischief is to pay with Bertha? — Bit by a rattle:
snake, or run away and got married to some jackanapes v

“Worse than that, uncle? Here, take this easy-chal!
and I’ll read you this stirring epistle, if—”

“Worse ’n being bit by a rattlesnake! What the deuc?
is it?” The old gentleman stared at her in evident co”
sternation.

“T meant a run-away marriage, uncle.”

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

CHAPTER X.
OAK GROVE. — “THE ACADEMY.”

NHAT the reader may understand our heroine’s letter
= Aa ari will go back a few months, and come up
with oi i of Jertha’s address to her confidential friend,

Some revelations.
ai Na large handsome house, set down in a wide beau-
sendy bier with a broad avenue leading up to it from the
ghway.

ae Ana a far - reaching corn - field, with African
Hahah She nse OV * the shining hoe and cutting
a atte ai a right ’ a , smaller field, with a cotton-gin
farther po . ea ey i mote till night, at the
sna ‘et pte é ye 4 inclosure ; to the left was a
aristocratic: oe ers be yard, plébeian in appearance, but
ited * ca y styled “the A rademy ; _and beyond this
i y residence loomed up the dark wild woods. With

the Academy ” we have the most to do; but a portrait
of the inmates of the wealthy home may not be inappro-
priate,

Colonel Wilmer, the head of the house, was a large. fat
red-faced, it eld
ities the rich man’s pride, for it was the only queue in
EN ig gy of the old North State. Colonel Wilmer had
ti ne child—a blue-eyed, slender, sickly girl, Dora, whose
ech Palin and generous, but whose intellect was ‘not
_~ *Uperior order, A brother and sister had gone to the
grave early, and Colonel Wilmer and his dyspeptic wife
ee In daily dread of losing this only remaining scion of
their Wealthy house. Dora was the darling of their hearts,

good-natured man, with gray eyes and gray queue,

 
46 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

was petted, physicked, and flannelled, until her white face
grew sallow, her slender form seemingly consumptive, and
her blue eyes dull and spiritless.

Mrs. Wilmer was a weak-minded, inquisitive, but amiable
woman, if not thwarted in her wishes and designs. Her
greatest weakness was envy and jealousy. She could not
endure to have her daughter thrown in the shade by an-
other’s superior capacity, even though that other was her
inferior in wealth and station; she forgot her womanly dig-
nity, and betrayed a most lamentable defect in the noblest
powers of the mind, by condescending to a controversy with
a child.

Dora Wilmer was a pupil at La Vioter Seminary for @
short time—only a short time. The girls of the neighbor-
hood wondered why she had left so early, but Bertha Bel-
mont never learned the secret until she became a pupil at
the same institution. Dora’s delicate health was the avowed
cause. That was Miss Wilmer’s last experience in boarding-
school life. A ‘ governess” was obtained from Connecticut
for the young heiress, and the girls of the neighborhood
were invited to become pupils with Dora. <A small, select
class was formed, among which was our bright and beautt-
ful heroine. Colonel Wilmer was what is termed “close”
for a rich man; fora poor one, it would have been “ mean.
And by securing a certain number of scholars for his
daughter's “ governess,” her salary would not all come out
of his plethoric purse. It might have been made a money~
making business with the Colonel; whether it was or nots
we will not assume the responsibility of saying. We leav@
it to the reader to judge of the probability from the circum
stances to be related,

Miss Hinzman, the teacher, was a fair, frail, girlish blonde:
Bertha Belmont loved her. But she was not long permitted
to enjoy the advantages of her society and instruction

her brown eyes.

and turned aw
couraging approval accompanied the words, “It’s very
well.”

wl

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 47

Miss Hinzman, in a few weeks, was reduced, by disease,

almost to death’s door, and at the earliest possible moment
left is lonely spot for the more congenial atmosphere of
Norfolk. 3ertha, Edalia, and Minnie, grieved over the
loss of ce gentle - hearted friend. Colonel Wilmer and
family uttered no word of regret.
Miss Watruff, of New York, was the successor; wholly
unlike, in-mind-and person, — squat form, large black eyes,
and hair of the same hue, pomatumed to the last degree of
oleaginous heaviness. Both showy and vain, and wholly
Unsympathizing, she failed to win the affection of our
Bertha and her two best friends.
The old building denominated “the Academy ” was
moved up from the woods to the yard, and the new teacher
commenced her duties with a dignity and stately reserve
meant to awe her

pupils into reverence for the august, little,
dumpy ing

dividuality.

It was drawing-day, and Bertha had finished her sketches
and presented the sheet to Miss Watruff for inspection. She
stood silently beside her “chair of state,” watching her
countenance, to catch its expression of approval or disap-
Probation, The brunette face remained immovable. Finally
she Said, doubtingly, without lifting her eyes from the
drawing :

“Did you do this?”

it oe > ,
Yes, ma am,” — Bertha wondered at the str
until the truth

ange query,
crept into her young mind and brightened
« ; m . y 0 .
It’s very well.” Miss Watruff returned the drawings
ay with cool indifference. No smile of en-

Bertha knew it was “well,” and so did her two friends,

10 made mouths at the teacher, privately, for her stingy

 
48 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.
: ee "~ cool
praise; but Bertha was secretly hurt by Miss Watruff’s coo
commendation.

Dora was also stung by eve
over to Bertha, and whis

“You feels as big as a

ae
n this sparse praise. She bell
pered, invidiously :

pnkic “1?
governor!
Our heroine smiled at Dor

spirit. She comprehe
offending; the dr
but why her

a’s poor grammar, and pooret
nded now the head and front of het
awings were too well executed to suit Doras
teacher should treat them so indifferently she
could not divine, She learned the truth subsequently,
Colonel Wilmer Was an admirer of talent; —no matte?
how poor and obscure a child might be, if it evinced talent
Colonel Wilmer was its friend and patron. A handsome youll
Englich wanderer, whose quick wit had attracted the _
ad so ingratiated himself into the ne
man’s affections by his extraordinary gifts of mind, that be
had been forthwith installed in the Colonel’s family as “4
of its members, and entered ag pupil to Mr. Belmont, with

his own son, previous to the death of that noble young sove

Wilmer was plain
assertion, “the good d
death.

gentleman’s notice, h

;
a N i ot 8
Thomas in person; but the poe

: ; : SS ee
le young,” was fully verified in ye
-_ ee , ie > race set UJ
Lhe fairest, purest star of the Wilmer race set
: ‘ : ry land
his slender grave, and shines on immortal in the glory lar

as his father’s son, and the ‘
buted to that father
source,

mm 5 et | lee ri’
Thomas w ‘closeness ” att

might have proceeded from snot
Many an innocent dog, like poor Tray, has bee!
soundly*thrashed for being found in bad company. P

Thackeray Says: “Since the days of Adam there ha

: oe : : i 7 ‘ 108
hardly been a mischief done in this world but a woman |
been at the bottom of it.”

We shall see,

They were gathered
mer, wife, daughter
vers.

d Ar
around the tea-table— Colonel W a
» teacher, and adopted son, Leroy Da

‘TY 49
BERTHA, THE BEAU ry.

ve and
, years old, very handsome an
Leroy was now twenty year: ‘ }

, r usually
isti ‘nglishmen unfortunately usuall)
manly, but atheistic, as Englishm ia Gide
9 J) ‘ § g 2 es eae
are. The young man was a grenuine admirer 0 apa
wi 2 Stat aie" ‘ing their associatiol
and made no secret of his preference duril the ON
i isi he low brow 1 €
*s schoolmates; and his visits to the low ; ( | “hae
dhs see j : pi Be
the lon piazza were regularly continued, when M
Rasen sg * Postmaster, an
mont had received the appointment of Postm
resigned his school. sei Fact ae
youth, for his profanity, overheard on severé
r

segiie snamored
Bertha was shy of the enamol
d€ . pon be
but
, 3 es Eo talents
pulsed her. She admired his beauty and :
shrank from the wicked possessor. 1 himself to Miss
The good-natured Colonel weaiinige table that
Watruff, as they discussed the dainties of the tea-table
Pleasant eve.

9
a .acholare =e
1 [iss Bertha as a schole
“And how do you find Miss Be

}

; ae re
right as a new shilling, eh? ; “3 progresses sur-
ey ~ . Os HHce e
ie otis, ) sir. he TOS
“T never knew an apt pul = ic. She is so far
Prisingly, particularly in drawing and music. inva yes
advanced in other studies that her improvement
Hot so perceptible.” he head of her class
“T told you so. She was always at the he: eae e
be _" raw id 4 o1o0onei,
in Ou h ) ol’? —and Leroy looked over at the
JUr SChoc bs ms
With a bright face.

. ey
y 1

ery amanmertial
wn in re are not very imparti
“Ah, young gentlemen in love are ,

}

2 > your raptures, my boy,
z i}i ance for your raptures, . -
Judges : I make some allowar slat i

on that score ;

but I always knew Bertha was <a yee
this was invariably the good man’s word for yrs wee
Lieto} Gbloded slightly, and laughed gaily, at =
meant and well-merited shot in the presence of a ag g
and that stranger a little black-eyed young ee i
Mrs, Wilmer bit her thin lip, as she remarked, ae : e
“Tnever discovered anything specially remal “i he
that child: she is not destitute of brains, nor si? it is
more than an ordinary share. If she learns well, ;
5 D

 
50 BERTHA, THE B

EAUTY,

simply because she

is forced to it by her Yankee father,
who, I believe, d

esigns her to get h

er living by teaching.
This was stepping on t]

1€ teacher’s toe y

vith a vengeance,
betrayed her ¢

onsciousness of the ruth-
less compression ; but it produced the desired effect, for Miss
Watruff never thereafter laid herself liable to a second
affront by praise of Bertha Belmont. Had she been a true
Woman, this expressed « belief” of Mrs. Wilmer would have
inspired her With deeper interest in the advancement of one
who was designed for her own profession; but Miss Watruff

was too vain and selfish to sacrifice the smiles of Mrs. Wil-
mer by doing Justice to |}
Watruff loved the

and her countenance

ler gifted young pupil, Miss
praise of men and novel-reading more
than to do justly, and stem the tide of of
formance of duty ; for Bertha neyer
of the “ Academy,” I
romance. But our

position in the per-
saw her at home, out
but she was deep in the mysteries of @
heroine dic

1 not condemn her for this,
for she herself wag « in the

“ge Ae
same condemnation.

justifiable in this belief relative to
res]

Mrs. Wilmer was not

Mr. Belmont’s intention ecting his daughter; for no
such design had eyer been entertained, much less expressed,
by Bertha’s father ; he was too proud and fond of his only
standing his
ay such plans
wealthy, he possessed

would subje

daughter — notwith

seeming to the eye of the
world —to ]

for her future. Though not
4 competence; and necessity alone

ct his only daughter to the drudgery of a school-
room. Mr, Belmont’

‘S motto was: “Prepare a child, by
education, for any

emergency in life;

e to his own children,
But Mrs, Wilmer foun:

Supposed purpose of Bert
advancement and

’ and he acted upon it
with referenc :
1 it very convenient to make this
ha’s father the cause of her rapid
mental superiority to her own daughter ;
truth that an
pushed into extraordin

ignoring the ordinary capacity cannot be
ary acquirements,

ITY 51
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

1 re St
age eS ak Grove
Bertha entered the parlor, 6ne day, at Oak ng herrs
q: ”’s residence was 7
the title by which Colonel Wilmer’s stat “ 1 but three-
guished ay music-practice. She was al cp my be
os oF 1er 1s 3
, ; ing unheard of in o
quarters of an hour —a thing t ‘ 1 from
= rtec r¢
; : yas a new one, just impo
tions; but the piano was a new one, | ler of
’ a ras particularly tender o
Yankee-land, and Mrs. Wilmer was particular];
its polish and tone. s. Wilmer made
She had practised but a little, when Mrs. € inil’s
she he actise ‘ ivert the pup
her advent and exerted her powers to divert th P i,
3 : : rly-arrived paintings for copying
attention by a display of newly-arrive pa — eile
in the « Academy ” Bertha submitted patient dee ]
Fae oes ni yas expiring unimproved,
to the imposition ; but her time was kee tag it.
and she knew she would not be permitted to exter

P ariness or symptoms
and as her kind friend evinced no weariness ot ym}

of cessation in elaborating upon the beauties i. ba iad

colors before them, she turned quietly to the ah

sive her a pianissimo hint from its ivory, pret

a | hee was not to be drawn off again ane oe Y.

out of her full time, but she touched the keys softly, by way

of respect for the lady’s commenting voice. Ag, einai at
Mrs. Wilmer’s passions became inflamed by

eff

a rrathfully, “I believe
flounced out of the room, exclaiming wrathfully,

. ee . yy ar’s style of rO-
You think a pie-anner (this was Mrs. Wilmer + thew wa!”
r . i > world!
Nouncing the instrument) is the greatest thing in the

ivi j urther, and she
orts to engage her undivided attention further, a

+ father w ave to

Bertha “ believed ” she thought her father would ha

F ; i I hether she practised ox

pay for the use of the instrument, wl Peek 3

not; and she “believed ” it to be her duty ip t oh a

to thi > was, she blushex

self to improve her time. Child as she wa ef : gor gael

the woman forty years old, who had — 2 1 jee —
of id ivial a cause r heroine le
Weakness of mind for so trivial a Canis.” a oe

the parlor with eyes open to Mrs. Wilmer’s true é

 
CHAPTER XI.
BERTHA’S TRIALS aT “THE ACADEMY.”

ts Was a day of excitement at “the Academy,” for the
paints had arrived for Miss Watruff’s

pupils, and, girl-
like, each one

Was eager to peep beneath the polished oe
at the small bright cakes, But disappointment awaitec
a proclamation was issued to the

boxes would not be distributed until to-

each young heart, for

effect that the
morrow.

r os ” oan tae e
When Bertha arrived at the “ Grove” next morning, th
paints had all been d

ealt out, and she caught up the oné
designed for herself,

and smilingly drew back the lid with
What a wreck met her astonished
Not a single unbroken cake
crushed into tiny pieces, irregular and unmatched,
they lay cracked and shivered in their small receptacles.
Bertha was struck dumb, for a moment, while Dora and her
friends looked on with cool indifference,
“Why, what in the world! —”
clamation, ;
“They got broke coming on,” Dora said, by way of
apology for the wreck.
“ And are they all like mine?” Bertha asked, regretfully:
Minnie Montrose broke forth
“No! Dora Wilmer’s has n’t
cousin May’s has but
the next best is her
the meanest

youthful eaverness,
a . )
Vision ! was discovered in thé
box, but

was our heroine’s eX”

: indignantly :

a broken cake in it !—hef
one, cracked across the middle; and
flatterer’s, Alice Warding. Yours 15

: : ‘d’s are first
in the whole lot, and mine and Ed’s are fil
cousins to it!”

: . ag snte
Bertha’s quick mind grasped the truth in a momen

ny 53
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

os ora’s dull
Her lip curled slightly as she looked full into Dora ;
wincing eyes, and said, sarcastically :

%
“Strange that mine should be a total wreck, and Dora’s
wholly injured!”
= No AE ei. bit strange when you know the agente
it!” thundered Minnie, “The boxes have all med ae
Over, and the best put into theirs, and the scraps into yours.
Don’t you see?” ; Bee
Bertha thought she did; and the meanness of the she:
Scorched her sensibilities. She replaced the lid, and laic
the box on Dora’s desk, saying, firmly:
“T won't have it.
borough,

Pa will order one for me from Tar-
I can’t afford to pay as much for scraps as you
do for a decent box.” fie

Away went Dora, May, and Alice towards the dwe ing,
after this indignant refusal of our heroine to accept what
they had rejected, and meant to impose upon her; ae
skirts flapping in the breeze, as they ran to bear the news

to discomfited Mrs. Wilmer, who had aided and abetted in
the

intended chi at, and whose penurious soul shuddered
With

apprehension of losing the amount marked upon the
broken and worthless box. She had not dreamed our
heroine capable of such open rebellion against her Bees
authority, notwithstanding the memory she retained of the
music-room. Bertha’s deportment had eyer been so gentle
and respectful that the information of her positive declen-
sion to submit to such shameful imposition startled her by
the magnitude of Miss Belmont’s audacity. 24

During recess, a servant informed our heroine Mrs. be
mer desired an interview. She went — wholly unprepared
for the storm that awaited her. :

From early childhood — that is, from the time Mr. Bel-
mont located in the neighborhood — Bertha and Dora had

° > A
tS artha
been warm friends, as well as their parents, until Bertha’s
5 al

 
54 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.
beauty and talents quite

eclipsed the young heiress, as they
verged upon W

omanhood, and a coolness sprang up betwee!
the female portion of the two houses, owing to the jealousy
of Mrs. Wilmer, Col. Wilmer’s admiration of talent was
far superior to his prejudice against Yankees ; and notwith-
standing the disparity in their pecuniary circumstances, the
two families were intimate friends and associates, until
“ Bertha the Beauty ” — as she was designated by commo?
consent — attained the age of fourteen.

Bertha responded to Mrs. Y

Vilmer’s call; and such a burst
of abuse

and violent anger never before broke above thé
defenceless head of an innocent, unsuspecting child. Out
heroine was confounded by the unlooked-for tornado of pas-
sion; but she partially recovered her self-possession before
the wild storm subsided in exhausted epithets. Mrs. W il-
mer vowed she should have tk

1e box, and threatened het
with terrible punishment if

> » fe oY
she dared to refuse. Her fathe
had ordered it for her and she was n’t going to lose the valu
4 5 5
of it for her (Bertha’s) meanness,

Bertha thought the “ meanness” lay in another quarters

i ‘ : ith
but she simply reiterated her language to Dora, — who, wit
ers ise : p ite
her two friends, was eavesdropping at the door, — and quit
ie 7: ; > such #
spiritedly assured Mrs. Wilmer she would not buy such

i . > the
box of worthless scraps, that had been picked out of th
others and put into hers,

Bertha turned aw ay, ind
ishment, with a visib]
mouth, and I

ignantly, to Mrs. Wilmer’s en
e hint of spirit-scorn about her small
assed out of the wrathful presence, where she
had stood during the raging of the waves, as Mrs. Wilme
had not honored her with even common politeness by offer
ing her a chair — stumbling over Dora as she opened th?
door to retire,

} . : 1 Rariie
At the close of the school that evening, while Bertl

. ge noe of Sa
awall d her father’s gig, to take her over the space o

 

par es 3
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY, Io

‘

Iiles, home, Mrs
particular
heroine,

. Wilmer visited “the Acad my,” and took
pleasure in slighting and insulting our young

Miss Watruff failed to show her

decent respect
In the presence

of the rich woman, who, she knew, and for

what reason, hated the poor pupil

Mrs. Wilmer

. She curried favor with
by slightine Bertha.
That was our heroine’s last day at “ Oak Grove Academy.”
She never entered the residence of Colonel Wilmer again.
Mr, selmont was a man of remarkable
Seherosity, but his I
of annoyance
He firmly
He V isite d

equanimity and
vatience was sorely tried by the system
and imposition practised upon his daughter.
resolved she should not be subjected to it lon
the Grove the day following, and

ger.
declared his
ion of discontinuing Bertha as a pupil.

Colonel Wilmer ex]

determinat

ressed his regrets for the cause, and
Praised our heroine’s talents in no stinted terms. The good
old Colonel was a genuine admirer of the young girl; and
Jealous, persecuting Mrs. Wilmer found no

sympathy in
her liege lord.

Mrs, Wilmer was sadly disa
unfeeling
browbeat
Cles

ppointed by the result of her
and unwomanly conduct. She had thought to
and bend Bertha to her purpose, and throw obsta-
in the way of her advancement ; When, lo! Greek had
met Greek, and she had but impaired her own interest
Teputation; for even her wealth did
neighborly remarks privately uttered,
Mr,

Belmont now carried tis daughter to La Violet Semi-
nary, ighty miles westward, among the

and
not screen her from

distant « mountains,

 
BERTHA, THE BEA Efe eS ge

CHAPTER XII.

BERTHA’S DESCRIPTIVE POWERS ARE EXERCISED.

\ R. REDMOND sank down upon the easy-chair, draw?

up by Edalia for his accommodation, with a puzzled
expression upon his good-natured face,

niece
seated herself upon

while the
a country-cushioned stool, at his feets

with one elbow resting upon his knee, and read:

“La Vioter Seminary, April 19th, 18—.
“My prar Eprr:—Iam tired —

so lonely —sick, sorrowful, and half
weeks ago, but no word in re

so tired. Iam lonely —
desperate! I wrote you

ply has come to cheer my sa@
and suffering heart. I know the fault is not in you, my
faithful, affectionate friend, and I’m quite sure I know
where it does lie, These people are afraid of losing mes
or, rather, my father’s gold, and intercept my letters. How
do I know this? | will tell you, some time. But whew
there’s a will there’s a way, and I’m going to cireumven™
them — if I can. he postmaster here is as mean as i
proprietor of this establishment, and that is fully enouge
for one human being! I will post this myself, and if I ie
no reply, I will post something else. This you cannot com
prehend until I give you a verbal explanation. I have hae
but one letter from home since I came to this mean, mise
able, mercenary place. I have been sick ever since I p¥
foot under this wretched roof. Pa has, doubtless, informe,
you of the submerging we got coming on; for there is 7
sneaking with him. W. K. Wilmer and wife were ové f
turned in the same place; and kept it concealed, instead 16
warning Pa of the way. We got the whole truth from va
family who rescued them as well as us. Dear! dear! wi

. . 3 ‘ Tl C

poor apologies for men there are in this world! That due*,
ing process gave me a sey

fering, not having recei

g

. ; ret, su
ere cold, from which I am yet Sil
ved a particle of care from t

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 57

Unsympathizing, heartless

| could hes
the fa

family. I could bear it better if
but I was weak enough to betray
upils here, that I had written Pa to

my health rendered me unfit for study. I

ir from home:
Ct to one of the y
Come for

have hot received a letter from any one since that confiden-
tial confession.

Can you not imagine the cause? That girl
— Angeline Davelin
prete

, ees of lik
like for the pec
betrayed me t

if not happic r,

me, as

es, of Petersburg — drew me out, by false
e home-sickness, tender sympathy, and dis-
yple and place, and then sneaked out and
o Mrs. Browzer! I’ve grown a little wiser,
since I came here, and my organ of cautious-

hess has dey; loped somewhat. That girl is an ugly-looking
concern physically, and with my knowledge of her deformed
what a mortal scarecrow I see daily at the

I hate meanness! The very atmosphere that
& mean mortal nauseates ‘me; and, goodness
little else in this horrid home! We

. Starved as well as frozen. We are made to sleep in the
attic without of fire, and shiver and shake from
Sunrise til] breakfast, with snow three feet deep mocking 1
‘rough the loophole of a window, from the bleak
l without this dreary, dreadful den,
teasant, fire-lic]
made

Soul, just imagine
Seminary !
surrounds

hows

i? » We have
alt

are

a spark

13

, desolate
Worl And yet there are
ited chambers under this roof that might be
the pupils, if the hearts of the
: hot wholly of stone.
With half

home to proprietors ,
Then we are fed on black tea,
lk (when we get any), and stale
Sometimes we have black mo-
asert. If we venture to accept
piece of ham for supper, we are told by Miss Madge

; ;

— Who teaches painting —in her coarse, masculine
» that “ladies don’t eat meat.”

And yet when a parent
& pupil here, honey and butter overflow, every luxury
abounds that can tempt the appetite until they depart; then
We poor mortals have “to pay dear for the whistle” the pro-
prietors bh], g the visitor’s stay. We are always glad
to see Strange face in the dining-room; for we know we
Shall get one more good meal! I’ve promised my best
dre “Ss to @ servant here, to supply me with dry bread during
the session, in order to save me from starvation. And this
Place Dora Wilmer suffered me to come to, when one
Ys, generous word of warning would have spared me

a thimbleful of mi
l without butter.

‘ses and one biscuit for de
2 Smal]

 

Browz, r
Volce

ts

Visit

ow duri
a

is the
friend]

 
58 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

é To eee a
all the suffering her mother’s jealousy and injustice havé
subjected me to.

I could have learned so much there, i
Mrs. Wilmer had acted the woman, and not the weal
minded, envious child. Ihave learned but little here; I be
too sick and miserable for school-duties, I do try to stuld
and improve my time, and “ finish my course” here ; ee
know if I return before the close of the session, it will all
joice my enemies at “the Academy.” Mrs. Wilmer wé f
knows the character of this Seminary; she knows one por
pupil was suffered to die here before the Browzers wos
inform her parents of their child’s illness, lest they shou
lose the

money for her board and Dr.
bill! And yet, should I |}

earthly purgatory,

Browzer’s “medic#
ve forced to abscond from the
Mrs. Wilmer would not seek to justiff
the act, from facts positive and her daughter’s sad exper
ence, but turn it to my disadvantage and injury. Thee
know, else I would have run away (don’t start at the ue 4
term until you are placed in my position) rather than endu

ioe ve. Bessy . Blace, ae
all that is imposed upon pupils in this heartless place.
poor teacher yearns to escape
as her young pupils, and will
is forced to share

from this iron cage as eagerly
fly the first opportunity. re
our fate in the attic, and fare, and ,
sunken blue eyes fill with tears at the sound of the “a
word “home.” Just think of putting a teacher in a a
petless attic without fire — and the room-mate a housemegl
And yet, when she first came, a lower chamber, cosy ‘bul
clean, was hers, with the Browzer girls for room-mates ; ‘ie
when the novelty wore away, they hustled her up to “4
garret! She is all I have to love, here —all that loves ‘nf
otherwise I could not have endured it till now. I could id
live without love, I'd rather die and be buried than Ii

alone and unloved. Miss Herbert is a dear, sweet girl F
only eighteen. I lie down in her arms and ery, with ii
soft voice trying to soothe me, when “I know her hear i
Weeping as freely as my eyes! Like her pupils, she ~
and longs for letters from home and friends, that never co

This establishment, Ed darling,
has a fine lure to the door that is

F oft
M re- Pel
is like a partridge-p {
everlastingly hard to get out of!

° . pl
mighty easy to enter, ;

description of

first ;

% J RR 2 1
I promised to give hee
the place and people. I fulfilled it eden
but that has never been received, I feel confi¢

the day,

al
cap, and
and cre;
through the

they
were
Should be }

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY, 59
Pe rhaps this wil]

1 share the same fate;
Write, so here ’s

but it’s a relief to
a@ repetition.

La Vioier SEMINARY
Is a lonely, lost-lookin
half q mile, with wil:

£ institution, sits back from the road
all desolate sides.

1, nightmare woods hemming it in on
I feel as though I had been dropped, in
# torpid state, from the cold, gray sky, and woke to find my-
self in a big bleak hole, with a black rim all] around, too
high to afford the slightest possibility of escape. Not a
habitation js visible wherever the eye turns ; all is monot-

onous and melancholy from this lonely prison-house,
The days ging sigh, and the

: are one long-drawn, dra;
evenings a quacks until dark. You

are horrible with Guine
know my abhorrence of Guinea fowls — their doleful “ke-
Whack ! ke-whack ! ” always sounds “oh, death ! oh, death!”
» 48 if to render this dreadful Spot more terrible,
al fowls are humerous to mention, in t¢}

to me ; and
1ideous

those funer too
ais

Closure, and make night |
All is sombr
and |

lis
after the dreary day.

€ and solemn; even the negroes

onesome airs,

have long faces
'. Browzer is

an easy, indolent man,
back x

who delights in
4 ovMmon, and corn in a liquid state. - Miss Daveling
softly » it has been his habit to begin at the head of
the stairs and roll to the bottom under peculiar circum.
Stances ; but J have not, as yet, witnessed the undignified
performance, He advises his boarders to imbibe freely of
cold Water every morning before breakfast, which evidences
his kindness of heart and most commendable charity, well
“noWing that is the only practicable method of filling up for

asserts

Mrs,

- Browzer

; is a yellow-face,
Out forty-five

years old:
affects youthful

l hypocrite of the first order,
Sports pink ribbons on her dress-

gaiety and graces,
and the next shake
, at a little nigger in
t performance,
lay moonlight,
caught the
once

She talks sugar
s her fist slyly,
the yard I’ve
Her voice is soft and mellow
and one would think her a saint, until
Sinner at her sly tricks. It is said they
Wealthy, and I wish they had continued so —f
lappier, I’m sure.

4m on

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

60 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

Rena Browzer, the second girl, (the oldest is married and
gone,) gives lessons on the harp, and plays the violin with
her left hand. I thought her pretty and good, until she
abused me for weeping, when my heart was almost broken,
instead of comforting me with kind words and womanly
sympathy. I shall never think Rena Browzer handsome
and good again, if I live a thousand years. It’s the pure,
gentle heart only that makes a lovely face, say what they
will of physical charms. She is soon to be married to her
sister’s brother-in-law, and I only wish he eould have
heard her abuse me,—if he has any sense of honor, it would
save him from similar abuse in the matrimonial state. I
sincerely hope she may get her match, when she marries
him ; and if she does, he will be fire and tow, or a magazine
with a lighted match under it!

Madge Browzer is distressingly homely, and considers
herself a beauty !— wears very long curls on either side of
her fat, rough face (put up in bits of paper in damp days),
and a little pig-tail knot behind, that gives her stately head
a most laughable conformation. She adores dress, and talks
dictionary from A to izzard. It would be exceedingly inter-
esting to hear her and Mr. Peterroy Simpkins engaged in
conversation; indeed, it would be as good as a farce.” (Mr.
Redmond here laid himself back, and shook his sides with
suppressed laughter.) “ She’s sarcastic and supercilious and
cold as an iceberg to all but the rich, unless flattered into
warmth and smiles by one as poor as herself, Angeline
Daveling understands the art of sweetening her yain lady-
ship to perfection. It makes me sick to witness the deceitful
ereature’s wiles. But Miss Daveling is compensated for the
labor of “soft-soaping” her, by the gracious gift of a cold
biscuit before dinner, which gratified Madge, in a spasm of
generosity, actually rewards her with ! Then Angeline runs
up to her attic, and laughs, jubilantly, at “the nice way she
put the feather over Miss Vanity’s gray eye!” wholly un-
thinking of the disgust and contempt with which she her-
self is regarded by her “ partners in distress.” She’s the
most treacherous girl L ever knew. Madge dearly loves
to talk of beaux, and hints loudly of “a certain young
doctor in the Navy,” which is none other than Bertrand
Cobler, formerly of our section! Just think of Dr. Cobler,

BERTIA, THE BEAUTY. 61

Who courted Polly Wilmer for her money, marrying a
Poor teacher! If Madge owned fifty negroes and a thousand
4cres of land, there ’d be some hope for her, in that quarter ;
ut if vanity could compensate for lack of wealth, she’d
Stand a fair chance anyhow! She walks like a peacock in
at strut, ae I often think it’s a pity she does n’t look at her
oes, ms O 1 wad some power =) ciftie gie s,” ete She ’]
make a sweet wife rapt dig cage Bee kent :
: 1 : 4 one § appen
to bite at her bait, and ingulf the barbed hook of matrimony.
Ella Browzer, the youngest of the family, is a grown-up
aby —too young to be mean and mercenary, and too large
to be considered a child. She’s much larger than I am,
though two years younger. She plays in the dirt with the
ittle niggers, and has no more feeling for her parents’
Starving and freezing boarders, than the great cat she hugs
and kisses continually! Ella is the handsomest one of. the

amily, and has decidedly the best heart — would make a
noble woman, if she were properly trained.

_ How do you like the portraits hung up in the Seminary,
Ed dear? Fine, are they not, for the daily contemplation
of a poor, sick birdling, taken from its nest-home of love
and care for the first time? I shall go mad, if I remain
‘ere much longer —I know I shall! I’m half crazy now;
and but for fear of Mrs. Wilmer’s malicious tongue, I’d
Tisk my reputation (which is dearer far than life) by escap-
ns secretly from this unfeeling, soulless den. If you should
purer to get this, by all that is merciful, help me to escape.

ve tried hard to learn enough of the theory of music, to
vet without a teacher, and I think I can get on without
ae Anyhow, as eager as I am for knowledge, I’d rather

Y upon ehance for obtaining it, than remain here a day
dry I might manage to live through the session, on
RF de and black tea, if there were feeling hearts and
sae eis to help me on. But to be caged up here, ina

Faye ho e, and not even permitted to read a line from

*, 18 more than human nature can bear much longer.

ee 3S

lor

Mr,

; Redmond never heard the few remaining lines of
ertha’s long letter, for Edalia broke hopelessly down here,

and er 1 of
ud cried heartily for both sympathy and spite /
6

——

 

 

 
 

 

 

62 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY,

The indignant old man Sprang up right nimbly, and
knocked his fists together by way of emphasis, while his
sober eyes flashed.

omy

he soulless imps!” he growled; “she shan’t stay there
two days longer, by thunder! If Belmont don’t start for
her to-morrow, I’ll go myself, by Jupiter!”

 

CHAPTER XIII.

BERTHA’S BRAVERY.

OOR Bert! — poor little thing!”

It was Minnie who uttered it, as she read the letter
next morning, up in Edalia’s chamber. Minnie raved in
characteristic style, as she blew her small nose and wiped
her wet eyes.

“T wish they had me to deal with!” was her closing
remark,

Minnie had no idea she would have found more than her
match, if they had. Bert was too easy, she said. ‘“She’d
defy the whole Browzer tribe, with a good many to help
them, to keep her in such a den, if she wanted to get out.
Old Mrs. Wilmer might talk, and welcome.”

She comprehended now the full import of’ the mysterious
smile that hovered around Dora’s wide, pale mouth, when
the news of Bertha’s departure for La Violet Seminary was
heralded at “the Academy.” She was glad Bertha was
going to be punished for being her superior in talent!

Then she hurried down the stairs, at Mr. Redmond’s
call, and went over to the low brown house with the long
piazza. But Mr. Belmont was gone, and Mrs. Belmont was

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 63

M tears over a heap of letters that had arrived from Bertha
the evening previous, and should have been distributed
along the weeks since she left her home. They had all
Come in one mail! And why? Bertha had absconded
from the Seminary, and there was no longer any necessity

for withholding her letters; they all came in a batch; and
Mrs. 5 A,
that they revealed. Dr. Browzer had dispatched a mes-
Senger to inform Mr. Belmont of his daughter’s secret de-
Parture, who had arrived last night, and Mr. Belmont had
hurried away at daylight, to bring the runaway home. He
Smiled over the thought of the daring spirit that would not
Submit to oppression and wrong.

Edalia’s letter had arrived in the bundle over which Mrs.
Belmont Ww

Belmont was weeping for the sufferings of her daughter

as grieving.

“That’s the secret, Ed!” broke forth Minnie, — “ your
letter ig dated April 19th, and this is the second of May. It
Sught to have come a week ago; and you would n’t have
Sot it at all if Bert had n’t run off — poor thing!”

at. say, blast the whole kit and posse!” growled Uncle
ed; “T mean to offer for Congress, and hire the people to
elect me; and when I get there among the swell-heads (who
do nothing but quarrel and fight and disgrace the country),

ll offer a resolution prohibitory of all seminaries. They ’re
treacherous traps, anyhow, and only kept by skinflints and
broken-down, heartless high-flyers —by Jupiter! ”

“You shall have my vote, then, without pay, Uncle

Ned,” laughed Minnie.
“We might have been spared this, if Mrs. Wilmer had
€n generous,” said Mrs. Belmont. ‘ Dora knew the hard
lot of a pupil in that institution, and yet suffered us to
be entrapped — disregarding the commandment, ‘Do unto
Others as ye would they should do unto you.’ ”

Mr. Redmond spoke up, warmly:

be

 
 

64 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

lam, if they knew enough of the Bible

‘Ah, my dear mac
to repeat a single passage, your daughter would not have

been constrained, imposition and little-souled envy, to

”

leave the school at the Grove.

“<« The Academy, Uncle Ned,” corrected Minnie, with a
were of her merry eye.

“Ugh! ugh!” growled the old man; “Academy in a
nut-shell! I say, hang the thing that don’t equal in dig-
nity and size the name it bears. You may call a dog a
lion, but it won’t change the nature of the beast. You
can’t make a mountain out of a mole-hill; and it’s simply
ridiculous to give high-sounding titles to low-sailing crafts,
like plain Peter converted into Peterroy— ha! he! haw!’

Mrs. Belmont smiled; Minnie clapped her hands and
danced to the music of a merry laugh; while a rich blush
brightened Edalia’s cheeks, beneath the significant glances
of the three.

“By the way, Mrs. Belmont,” continued the fun-loving
old man, “Peter got sacked, last night; even his grand
name could n’t save him!”

“Or his big words!” chimed in Minnie.

“Then somebody has an enemy for life,” said Mrs, Bel-
mont, quietly. ‘‘ Peter will never forgive the deep sin of
being rejected — beware of his vengeance!”

Mr. Redmond threw his head back for a strong laugh,
and unconsciously bumped it heavily against the buffet.

“Ugh! ouch!” he groaned, rubbing his gray hairs stoutly
with both hands; “that concern’s harder’n my head, by
Jupiter! Blamed if it hain’t knocked all the laugh out’n
me!’

There was a fine concert of mirth at this remark, which
realized the good old man’s hopes. He had found Mrs.
Belmont in tears, and had resolved to leave her in smiles,

Mr. Redmond was a truly benevolent man.

BERTHA, THE BEA Ut.

CHAPTER XIV.
MR. REDMOND STARTLES EDALIA.

peat A was equipped for a visit to the church-yard —
4 her daily resort since the soul-harrowing intelli gence
of Charles Chester’s engagement — and was desc vending the
Steps with a sentimental “let concealment like a worm ?
the bud ” air, that she had acquired to pert fectibility, from
Sympathy es the unfortunate heroines of the most fashion-
able novels and light literature with which her chamber
abounded, when the cheerful voice of Mr. Redmond issued
from his office-window, and aroused her from a pensive

“ prey on her damask cheek ” reeery:

“Where to now, little gad-about?’

“Only for a ramble through the green woods, uncle.”

“Let me go too?”

“T don’t care, sir.”

“You don’t care if I don’t, eh?”

ects uncle, I don’t care if you do! The pleasure of
your company is respectfully solicited,” and she dropped
Stage courtesy.

They wandered down beneath the young foliage of the
dark, still grove, towards the little brown chapel ; and with
40 expression she had never before seen in his mild blue

€yes, he hesitated at the little wicket and invited her to
enter,

He led her to a slender grave in a retired nook of the old
yard, beneath an ancient and luxuriant willow, whose long
thick fri inge drooped gracefully around, forming a green can-
Py about it. The marble slab that chronicled the death
of the pale sleeper beneath was stained and darkened by

6* :

———————

- creer
Ses eS =

es EE

 
 

66 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY,

the winds and waters of many bygone years. She brushed
the accumulated dust and leaves from the niches made by
the sculptor’s chisel, and exposed two tiny white angels,
with plumed wings, smiling over a broken rose-bud. Be-
neath was written :

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF
EVA ELDON,
AGED NINETEEN YEARS,

Mr. Redmond watched the process of ablution silently,

then sank upon the white stone. Edalia sat beside him.
It was here she had designed to come when she left her
home. This was the spot she had selected for her last, long
rest, beside the fair young victim of a hopeless love,— fit
spot, she fancied, in her sentimental sighing, for one simi-
larly fated! Beneath, slept the mother of Walter Eldon,
and above, sorrowed the destined bride of her son —if the
assertion of a bug was to be accredited. But she enjoyed a
romantic anticipation of fading prematurely away, like a
young wild-rose in summer-time, and experienced no little
satisfaction from the indulgence of so interesting a denoue-
ment of a constant heart’s mournful love history !

From such lachrymal dreamings she was awakened by
the inquiry :

“Do you know, Edie, the story of Eva Eldon?”

“T have heard, sir, she was the victim of a father’s
cupidity ; that, with her heart irrevocably given to one, she
was forced to bestow her hand upon another, and died, a
sacrifice upon the altar of avarice.”

“And who was the loved one?”

“TI don’t know, sir. I have been informed he left his
native for a foreign land, to avoid beholding her the wife
of another. It seems to me such devotion would have justi-
fied filial disobedience, Don’t you think so, uncle?”

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 67

Mr. Redmond rose and examined a small blossom ana-
lytically,

“Circumstances sometimes justify seeming inconsistencies.
Eva Walter’s disobedience would have been unpardonable
in the sight of God and man.”

“Did you know the loved one, uncle?”

“T knew him well —a penniless aspirant to the heart and
hand of the beautiful heiress, who has since acquired that

Which would have entitled him to favor in the estimation
of the penurious parent — wealth and celebrity. As you
know, Eva Walter was the playmate of my boyhood, and
Your mother’s fuithful friend. A recent occurrence induced
me to take you to this grave, it being the most suitable Spot
to apprise you of a contemplated arrangement. I am pledged
to the sainted sleeper beneath this stone to be a father to
her orphan boy while life is granted me, and it is for you
to thwart or facilitate a propitious opportunity.”

He placed in her hand an open letter. She opened and
read:

“RANDOLPH Macon Co.unae, April 27, 18~,

“My pear Str:—A stray waif on the winds of time,
I cross the line of minority undecided what course to pursue
for the future, though the natural tendency of my mind is
to Jurisprudence. :

“To adopt the profession of the law, as a resource in the
Strugele of life, I have an inclination, but would consult you
With reference to the expediency of carrying into effect this
©ontemplated purpose, before entering upon the study.

“ Pour years of college life may have exhausted my little
Patrimony, but with a heart firm to do and to dare all that
‘S Tight and just, I look into the labyrinthine future with a
fearless eye; “and though destitute of all but native strength
4nd firm Yeliance upon an overruling Power, the watchword
of my heart will be, as I glance beyond the veil that drapes
the battleground of years beyond — onward /

“ My respectful regards to Miss E.; and hoping to be

 
68 BERTH A, THE BEAUTY,

advised by you relative to the feasibility of the plan pro-
posed, at your earliest convenience, I am, dear sir,
Your obedient and indebted
Watrer E. Expon.

“To Epwarp Repmonp, Esa.”

Edalia folded the missive, and returned it in silence,

“Well, Ed?”

“Well, uncle, what do you propose?”

“To receive Walter Eldon as a law-student in my office;
and thereby avoid the incurrence of further pecuniary lia-
bilities.”

Edalia started, and flushed, warmly. The vexations of
the first of May recurred to her mind, and she saw, in fancy,
a long catalogue of similar annoyances, like land-marks
upon the wayside of the future, to be combated, inevitably,
under such an arrangement as that suggested.

“ Well, Edalia? ”

“Consult your own feelings, uncle. I beg to preserve a
deferential neutrality on this point.”

“ Without your concurrence, my child, I shall carry into
effect no plan that will operate so materially upon your
domestic life. I must have your hearty acquiescence, before
introducing a new member into our little home-circle. Con-
sider the motive that prompts me to this end, and let
humanity decide. Walter’s circumstances are limited, and
without this arrangement the remainder of his little posses-
sions will be expended, in order to qualify him for the pro-
fession ; and he will then go out penniless into an unsympa-
thizing world, to brave the disappointments and delays
incident to the opening career of a young disciple of the
legal fraternity.”

“T have decided, uncle ; let it be as you desire, but —”

“ But what, darling?”

She looked up. His generous face was all a-glow with

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 69

Sratified love, and the old characteristic twinkle had re-
Sumed its sway in his smiling blue eyes, in evident anticipa-
tion of the unsaid thought.

“But I have one request, uncle, which, if granted, I shall

feel no opposition to your beneficent design, and shall enter
heartily into all plans that will redound to the interest of
Walter.”

“Granted before heard, Ed; name it, dear,”

“Then, sir, never advert to that foolish affair associated
With the month of May, and heathenish superstition, and I
4m ready to receive and regard Walter as a dear friend,
8nd brother.”

He took her in his arms, and kissed her forehead.

“: My child, your happiness is my first care, and whatever

hopes I may cherish for you in the future, relative to mat-

ters of affinity, I shall never essay to bias or constrain you
'N affairs of the heart. 1] ave you free to act, only hoping
ay not commit the grand error of many
x — mistake romantic passion for genuine love.”
He spoke this with an emphasis that recalled it to memory
long years after, when she had learned to comprehend its
Import,

And so it ended, They turned from the old hushed gar-
1 of the dead, and wended homeward, in a gorgeous sun-

de

se Piss ‘ ‘
€ of richest crimson and gold, and a sweet breeze refresh-

gly
Mr,
drove

My.

into

astir on the fragrant evening air.

Belmont and Bertha, sunken-eyed and emaciated,
up to the low brown house with the long piazza, as
Redmond and Edalia emerged from the deep grove
the highway. The two girls uttered a glad ery, and
‘ng into each other’s arms. Uncle Ned rubbed his hands,
*nd chuckled,

8pr,

 
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

CHAPTER XV.
BERTHA TAKES FRENCH LEAVE OF THE SEMINARY.

(F\HERE was confusion at La Violet Seminary. Miss

Belmont was missing, and the alarm was sounded
throughout the Institution. The three boarders (all that
the establishment could boast) gathered up in the attic and
whispered over the mysterious disappearance of their late
“fellow-sufferer.” Bertha had run away, they felt. confident,
but they dared not breathe it aloud. They wished them-
selves as “well off” as the daring one, if she were not cap-
tured and brought back. The young trio did not know
what recent additional provocation their late companion
had received to incite her to this bold act.

Bertha was sick — too sick to descend to the school-room;
mentally and physically, she was wholly unfit for study.
Our heroine had grown thin to emaciation. Her health,
delicate from early childhood, had been wholly uncared for
by those to whom her fond father had intrusted her, and
her deathly white face and faded eyes sadly betrayed their
neglect. Then, too, she was heart-sick with hope deferred,
longing to hear from the loved ones at home. Day after
day she had waited and yearned for the letters she knew had
come; for Mr. Belmont was Postmaster, and no delay from
careless officials would keep her waiting in vain. But day
after day dragged wearily on, and no loving words came
from the dear ones afar to cheer her wretched state. Bertha
was fast verging upon desperation, ripe for any rash act,
when she saw Mr. Wetter, the Postmaster, in close conver-
sation with Dr, Browzer, the day of her elopement. She
felt an intuitive conviction that she had been the subject of

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY, 71

Such earnest discussion, when Mrs. Browzer, with a mysteri-
us smile upon her yellow face, informed Rena and Madge
that Mr. Wetter had “come to consult the doctor upon a
Point of law.”
read the silent ]
the three,

Our heroine had quick perceptions; she
anguage of the glances interchanged between
F Bertha went up to her gloomy and bare attic
"ith a sickness at heart that she had never realized be

She

her

fore,
Saw her situation was hopeless, unless she relied upon
own bravery and cunning to improve it. Should she
"Un away? Her pride revolted at the suggestion, and a
thought of Mrs. Wilmer’s malicious tongue held her unde-
cided. But then, human nature could not endure such
"™ Position and misery much longer. She should die there,
Maaco speedy relief, like the poor girl of whom Angeline
: aveling had informed her — die there, in that dismal den,
among unfeeling, cruel strangers, and never behold her dear
“ji haes and brother again! She wrung her small hands in
Sony. IPfshe could get a letter to some one, she might

°e rescued ; but that was impossible — she tas wholly in
ie sel: ” soulless, mercenary wretches, Even Edalia
‘ mh : responded; doubtless her letter had been read by
with rsecutors, _ Bertha knew her father would visit her,
1t some satisfaction from the Seminary ;

ams. but suspense
as killing he

t—she should not live till he arrived, She

Wen : i
t to the puny looking-glass, that served the boarders for

& mir, * .
1rror, and examined her face. It was sunken and sallow,

an ras .
d great blue rings surrounded her heavy eyes,
Walkin

Stre
atti
8c]

She was
g the floor in a state of distraction, the bitter tears
4ming down her cheeks, when Mrs. Browzer entered the
chamber and ordered her to go immediately to the
100l-room. j

ur heroine sobbingly assured her she was “too sick and

: erable — it was impossible for her to study.
Use her to-day.”

hig
Please ex-

 
72 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY,

Mrs. Browzer would “do no such thing. It was her duty
to see that Miss Belmont improved her time,” (Bertha
wished she would be as careful of duty in other respects, )
“she would not have such foolishness about her ; she ought
(Bertha thought
Mrs. Browzer ought to be ashamed of the meanness of inter-
cepting letters.)

to be ashamed of such childish conduct.”

Rena now entered to second her mother, which she did in
such sharp terms that Mrs. Browzer reproved her gently for
her language.

Rena “ could n’t help it, mother ; she was so disgusted to
see a grown young lady (our heroine was sixteen —in ap-
pearance not more than twelve) conduct herself in this
manner. She ought to be made to behave herself, and go
down to the Academy.”

Rena flounced out of the room, with a scowl upon her
brow, and her stinging words rankling in a yearning and
deeply suffering heart. If Rena and her mother had uttered
kind and sympathizing words, the poor heart would have
been comforted, and better prepared for duty ; and the repu-
tation of their Seminary would not have suffered by an act
to which their heartlessness impelled our heroine.

Mrs. Browzer soon followed her frowning offspring, with
the authoritative declaration that Bertha “should go,” and
commanded her, imperatively, to “prepare herself for the
school-room instantly ! ”

Bertha looked at her as she went out, with haughty head
high up, and ribbons fluttering from her cap, and wondered
if that woman had any soul? She thought it possible that
a just and righteous God might have created some humal
forms destitute of an immortal principle, knowing, in His
infinite wisdom, they would be damned eternally if He fa
vored them with a spark of divinity.

Bertha only partially obeyed Mrs. Browzer —she went;

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 73

but
mi

not to the school-room. She went from her dark, cold,
Serable attic in the direction indicated by her tormentor,
and she Her indecision was ended —her
Purpose was fixed. She would have died in the woods, sooner
than return to that place of torment.

Bertha Belmont was a timid, retirine cir] — easily led by

’ oD

never returned.

®ve, but not to be driven by harshness, Her sense of honor
ated her obstinate, when dealt with unjustly; but
Sey ha a i Kcinbaoat sid was pliant and yielding as wax.
as too quiet and reserved to beeasily read. Her modest,
Sentle deportment gave the impression of cowardly weakness,
until meanness developed her latent powers. As she had
Written to Edalia, she “despised meanness,” and she “ could
~ live Without love?” Mrs. Browzer had thought to frighten
‘er into subjection. She discovered her error when too late
to repair it,
Bertha went around the Academy, instead of into it. It
he Hot an unusual route for the girls, and she escaped
P servation. She went on and on soberly, until a friendly
ledge shut her out from the prison she had left forever;
. ‘en her sober pace quickened into surprising velocity. On
end on she flew, she knew not whither — she only thought
Ke “Scape from the lion’s den. Our brave heroine scrambled
Aad 4 worm fence, and found herself in the black rim of
a that had so long shut her in from the feeling world.
_~ Dreathed freer, but slackened not her pace—she was
Yet too near the dreaded Institution.

Ww

h Bertha was on the point of congratulating herself upon
er esos a :
scape, when — horror of horrors!—she found she had

a ~ ia jewel, containing a lock of precious hair, and
Dandie a their swiftness — her heart sank like lead in her
fait g imag She could not proceed without an effort to
emin it. Night was coming on, and the woods looked dark

and , at ‘ns
gloomy, but our heroine’s spirit was too strong to suc-

7

 
74 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY,

cumb to slight difficulties. Bertha turned to retrace her
steps in search of the lost treasure. She had been taught
from babyhood to trust in an overruling Providence, and to
pray to “ Our Father, who art in heaven ;” and the strongest
and most comprehensive language she could command came
from her heart as she petitioned the Lord to « prosper her
way.” Bertha had well-nigh despaired of success, because
of the thicket through which she had passed, and was on the
point of abandoning the search, when her eyes fell upon the
prized jewel half hidden in dry leaves. She grasped it
eagerly, and her small feet flew onward with a strength and
swiftness that would have astonished one who beheld her
little, sickly-looking form. Bertha had lost time to make
up, and she made it with deeper gratitude in her palpitating
heart, than she had ever felt in her life before. On and on
she went through the wild woods, firmly believing the Lord
would lead her right, since He had providentially returned
her treasure. Finally she struck into a pig-path — she knew
not where it might lead, but she followed it; there was surely
a habitation not far distant. A stately residence at length
shone through the trees, and an old negro in an ox-cart
eyed her narrowly as she followed the pig-path.

Sarnestly as she longed for rest and shelter, our heroine
had not one thought of seeking it in the wealthy-looking
It reminded her of Mrs. Wilmer’s home, and she
felt a secret conviction she would find no sympathy there.
She knew not how far she had come from the hated Semi-

mansion.

nary ; perhaps this was one of the Browzer associates, who
would send her back, if she applied there for protection.
She quickened her steps to widen the distance between her
and the aristocratic residence. The little path led into the
highway. She looked around her on all sides with mortal
fear lest she should encounter the Doctor or Mr. Wetter.

Either would have been fatal.

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 75

Bertha longed for one glimpse of an humble-looking house
— a low brown house with a long piazza, would have over-
Joyed her anxious heart. She did not believe all the rich
to be destitute of sympathy and human kindness: Mr. Red-
mond and Dr. Montrose were shining exceptions. Neither
did she think all the poor were generous and good: Dr.
Browzer’s family were sufficient proofs to the contrary. But
in her friendless and forlorn condition, our heroine would
*ather trust to an humble home for comfort and security.
And such a home now presented itself to her faded brown
eyes. Bertha approached it fearlessly, with a presenti-
Ment of good.

A mild-eyed, matronly woman received her kindly, and
listened to the story our heroine related, with evident sym-
pathy in her motherly eyes.

“Poor thing!” were her first words, as the young girl
€nded the tale of her wrongs and sufferings at the Seminary,
and asked for shelter and protection.

Our heroine’s firmness deserted her at the voice of kind-
Ness, — she broke completely down, and cried for very joy.

feeling of home, so long a stranger to her heart, camo
Over her warmly at the motherly sound.

Mrs. Davin soothed her with true womanly kindness, and
Bertha grew calm and strong beneath the reviving influence
of a Sympathizing soul. The good lady promised her pro-
tection, until Mr. Belmont could be advised of her situ-
ation,

 
BERTH A, THE BEA err.

CHAPTER XVI.
PROVIDENCE SMILES ON OUR HEROINE,

YHE Davin family, to whose care a kind-Providence had

led our friendless and homeless heroine, consisted of

five members — parents, two children, a son’ and daughter,

anda young grandson, whose mother, the daughter of Ber-

tha’s kind friends, slept quietly beneath the green coverlet
of Spring.

Mr. Davin was a generous - hearted, humorous man, of
much wealth and little show. Bertha was surprised to find
there were far greater riches in the unassuming home she had
chosen than in the stately mansion she had shunned. She
learned also that the inmates of that imposing residence were
associates of the Browzer family, who would, undoubtedly,
have returned her to her den, had she applied to them for
protection. Like the Browzers, they were people who made
a desperate effort to “ keep up appearances,” and such per-
sons invarfably possess a lean soul. People of fallen for-
tunes, arising from extravagance or intemperance, starve
the mind to tinsel the body; while honorable persons in
reduced circumstances accommodate themselves to their
condition, and wear an exterior corresponding with their
depleted purse. Bertha shuddered at the bare thought of
the great house, with its superficial occupants that she had
providentially shunned.

Dr. Davin, the son, had but recently returned from col-
lege. His manly, generous face bore ample testimony to
his relationship with the noble woman who had received and
comforted our unhappy, absconded heroine. His mild blue

eyes filled with sympathizing tears as he listened silently to

dad
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. (é
the story of the poor girl’s sufferings at the Seminary re-
hearsed by Mrs. Davin. » Bertha felt sure of protection from
her enemies, as she looked upon the firm, yet feeling face of
the true-hearted young doctor.

But for one circumstance, which remains to be revealed
in the future, our young heroine’s grateful and susceptible
heart would have remained in the home of her newly found
friends, when her wasted form and wan face had passed from
it forever, But Bertha Belmont was not one to change
€asily, Love with her was not merely one of life’s incidents,
but the epoch of an existence.

Lily Davin was her brother’s peer, and worthy of her pa-
rentage, Lily had been a pupil at the Seminary, and could
Vouch for Bertha’s veracity from actual experience. Bertha
learned more of the Browzer antecedents and surroundings,
and the reputation of their Seminary, than she had known
When she assumed the responsibility of taking French leave
°f it. Providence could not have directed her to a better
°r more desirable refuge, than the unassuming home of the
Wealthy family, who scorned superficial show, and hypo-
Critical pretenders. Bertha also found she had run two
miles through wild, strange woods, to escape the cruelties of
% fashionable boarding-school.

They were on the eve of retiring the first night of

ertha’s unceremonious introduction to the amiable family,
When a loud fist-knock at the door of the country home,
“Ummoned Mr. Davin ; and our heroine caught the words

Yom the new-comer :

eat ye got ary strange young leddy wid ye, massy ?”

Bertha’s face grew whiter — her faith failed her, momen-
tarily ; but a glance at her friends reassured her. .

The old negro, sent out from the Seminary in search of
the Missing pupil, followed Mr. Davin to the parlor-door,
and poked his black head through to observe Bertha.

‘

 
78 BERTHA, THE BEA OT ys

“Yes, sah; dat’s de young leddy, shore’ Done run off
*bout two ’clock frum de Sem’na’ fur sart’n, mas y! We
niggers bin lookin’ arter ’er ever sense school broke, sah ;
mighty big fuss up dare ’bout’er, fur shore /”

His white eyes and teeth shone brightly, with a broad,
satisfied smile.

Bertha did not recognize the old man, but she requested
him to inform her friends at the Institution that she was
both safe and well, and to feel no further concern about her,
for she would never return to the Seminary alive. The old
hegro responded :

“Yes, Miss, I’ll tell ’em dat same. I’s mighty glad I
done foun’ ye, honey, fur shore!” He ducked his black
head, and pulled his forelock respectfully, and smilingly
disappeared.

Bertha slept sweetly under Mr. Davin’s hospitable roof
that night, with a heart full of gratitude to God for the
friends He had raised up to her in a time of sorest need,
and a fervent prayer upon her pale lips for those dear, kind
friends.

Next morning early, Dr. Browzer presented himself at
Mr. Davin’s, and requested an interview with his late pupil.
Bertha trembled universally as Mr. Davin informed her
of the visitor’s desire. She had not anticipated this; she
now feared being taken, vi e¢ armis, back to the hated Semi-
nary, and begged to decline the interview.

“Don’t you be afraid, child,” said the good old man; “he
shan’t take you out 0’ my house, while I’m in it, by jing!
Nobody shall have you against your will, till your father
comes, as sure’s you’re born. I’ll see you through all
right —by the land!”

Thus encouraged, our heroine accompanied her protector
into the visitor’s presence.

Dr. Browzer received her politely and even kindly ; and

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY, 79
rallied her upon her surreptitious departure from his pre-
Mises. He endeavored to convince her of the impropriety
of the step she had taken, and to prevail upon her to return
With him.

Bertha firmly declined the urgent invitation, and gave

her Objections to his proposition, bravely supported by the
Proximity of smiling Mr. Davin.

Dr, Browzer could not controvert her assertions, but
®ssayed to invalidate her arguments by adverting to her
1mperilled reputation, (Bertha wondered if he did not mean

his,) —he affirmed that should be a sufficient incentive to
daty, even at the sacrifice of a little personal feeling.

Our heroine smiled at the word “ duty,” so religiously
recommended to her by those who had neglected it them-
Selves, She seriously doubted if it were her “ duty ” to sacri-

Ce happiness and life solely to advance the interest of those
Who had trampled upon principle, and thought only of profit.

Bertha informed him she “was entirely willing to risk the
Consequences of the step she had taken. To remain at the
Seminary would be of no benefit to her whatever, as her
Wre

tched health rendered it impossible for her to make any
ady

“ncement in her studies.. She could not live through the
Session without some sare for her present condition.”
zer’s diplomacy had failed signally, and he now
d his tactics, He advised her “to accompany him
Institution, and he would inform her father of her
declining health and desire to return home. As Mr. Bel-
Mont had confided her to his care, it was proper that he
Should return her to him.”

Bertha smiled in her sleeve, and wondered “if her face”
Was so
entr;
of h
ticy]

simple as to induce the supposition that she could be
‘pped by such a bait. She was surprised that a man
is age should angle in clear water, without being par-
arly careful to conceal his hook !

 
80 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY,

She “preferred remaining in her present home until her
father came, as she found it more pleasant than the one she
had left. Had her letters been received by her friends, she
would not have been subjected to the necessity of leaving
the Seminary secretly. Perhaps the mails might fail to
carry his letter to her father, as they had hers; and in such
an event she would be better content among her new-found
friends.”

Dr. Browzer winced, but yielded the point at diseretion.
His late pupil was incorrigible, and safely intrenched
behind friends more powerful, in every respect, than him-
self. He remained to breakfast, and departed, unregretted
by all he left behind. He promised Mr. Dayin to convey
intelligence to Mr. Belmont.

The good old man applauded her bravery, and laughed
at the Doctor’s defeat. The kind family enjoyed the scene
enacted by the proprietor of La Violet Seminary and his
invulnerable pupil of former days, reproduced by its face-
tious head, for their amusement, with characteristic humor.

They were peaceful, pleasant days our heroine passed in
the home to which a merciful Providence had directed her.
She was no longer pinched with hunger and frozen with
heartless indifference; but it was long months ere she re-
covered from the effects of a heart left to desolation. Her
whole nature was love, and without its healthful influence
she would soon wither and die.

Mr. Belmont was startled by the ravages of disease made
in the appearance of his daughter by a few weeks’ experi-
ence in a “ fashionable boarding-school,” Bertha thought
heaven had come down to earth when she found herself once
more in the safety-ark of her father’s arms.

Dr. Davin accompanied Mr. Belmont to the Seminary
upon his arrival at Bertha’s refuge, and was besieged by
Lily upon his return.

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 81

Dr. Davin was a quiet, amiable man, with a keen sense
of the ludicrous underlying a calm, dignified exterior. His
Cool, undemonstrative manner of relating an incident gave
double point to a sarcastic thought.

“Did you enter the Institution?” inquired Lily, with a
Sparkle in her mild eye as it looked into her brother’s.

“No;” laying his head back with a queer expression
about his manly mouth; “we preferred the porch,—the
€vening was fine.”

“Then you did n’t see the ladies?” said Lily.

“Oh, yes,” — caressing his firm mouth with finger and
thumb to smooth out an incipient smile; “they honored us
With their presence upon the porch, and also gave us an
invitation from the key-board to enter the parlor, which the
balmy air induced us to decline. Splendid piece it was,
though; I saw Fanny Elisler dance it in Philadelphia.”

“What was it?”

“The Cachuca.”

“Then you heard Madge talk, of course ?”

“T did.”

“ What ‘did she say?” laughed Lily.

“She said,” laying his head back and turning up his eyes,
Soberly, «« Oh, what a beautiful night we are going to haye!
The moon begins to shed its influence already !’”

“Why that was simplicity’s self to Madge’s usual style,”
Said Lily, with a merry laugh.

“Yes, but the loud, rostrum tone and manner in which

S declaimed rendered it graceful and grandiloquent.”
incipient smile leaped into full birth upon the young

doctor's handsome mouth, and his fine blue eyes expressed

Volumes of unspoken thought, more amusing to the observer
th i

n the oral language.

“She talked like a lawyer,” said Mr. Belmont, alluding

to Mrs, Browzer ; “I’ faith, one would think from her tone
,

 
 

82 BERTHA » THE BEAUT oo

of injured innocence that my daughter was the most un-
grateful imp alive to desert such a delightful home and loy-
ing friends as she found at the Seminary! I should think
So, judging from her appearance!” he growled, indignantly.

Bertha bade adieu to her kind friends with genuine
regret, and left the vicinity of her late purgatory with no
lingering desire ever to behold it again. Dr, Davin accom-
panied them some miles on their homeward route, and they
said farewell for many long years.

“Ha, ha!” laughed Mr. Redmond, as the story ended,
“and so we’ll have the blue-eyed sculapius fluttering
around here before shortly,—TI’ll bet two chincapins, by
Jupiter!”

Bertha blushed painfully ; the crimson flush, mantled
both cheek and brow, and even tinged her small ears, Her
confusion was so apparent that it communicated itself to
the observer, and the old man’s kind heart assisted her to
recover from the overwhelming effect of his badinage. He
never alluded to the doctor again in Bertha’s presence. Her
extreme sensibility at her tender age surprised him.

“Tsay, Ed,” said Mr. Redmond, as they wended home-
ward, “ Bertha’s in love, and my jig’s up — by Jupiter!”

Edalia laughed at the serio-comic expression of his face ;
she knew he was jesting with his gray hairs.

“TI really believe so, uncle; but I seriously doubt if it’s
with the doctor.”

“ Who the deuce then?”

“Esquire Redmond, perhaps.”

“Get out!” he snarled, with a queer compression of
the softened mouth.

“He, he!” giggled Dora Wilmer, “ Bertha Belmont’s run
away — he, he!”

Dora had dropped in at Dr. Montrose’s the evening sub-

sequent to our heroine’s return home. Minnie snapped out,

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY, 83

Tegardless of her visitor’s feelings and politeness under her
Own roof:

“Yes, and you would have done the same, if you had the
bravery that Bert’s got!”

Dora was so chagrined at this well-merited rebuke, that
she burst into tears like an angry child, and flirted out to
the carriage, with the terrible threat that she’d “tell her
Ma!”

“T don’t care if she never comes again,” said indignant
Minnie to the gratified Edalia; — “she’s got no soul, any-

’, and the whole family’s just so, setting aside the Colonel.

°’s worth the whole tribe, (and goodness knows there ’re

“ough of them Loa they possess in the round world is

in their pocket — they have n’t anything in their heads, the

Lord knows! They ’re stingy as sin, and all you hear in
their houses is ‘money’ and ‘Thomsonian medicine’! ”

Edalia laughed outright; and Mr. Redmond, with a jerk
of one leg to shake down his trousers, said, with a chuckle:

i They may say what they please of Bert, I glory in her
Spunk — by Jupiter!”

 

CHAPTER XVII.

WALTER ELDON’S ADVENT. — EDALIA’S DREAM.

I was a busy day at Mr. Redmond’s. There was the
M4 if be . . r~ > ¢ >
little chamber adjoining the old man’s to prepare for

alter, and Aunt Cora bustled about, brimful of impor-
tan
ance

and satisfaction.

Slane too ab
“Lor” bless:-ver heart, honey! I ain’t bin so glad I
“Nno when! Mars Wallie was ollers sich a nice boy.

 
84 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY,

Four years is a mighty long time, I spect ’e won’t hardly
know old Aunt Cory what used fur ter steal biscuits out’n
the oven fur you an’ him ’fore they was good an’ done, Lor’
bless ’is blue eyes! Aunt Cory ain’t furgot ’im yit — how ’e
used fur ter buy ’er terbacker when she had n’t a blessed
red cent ter he’p ’erse’f wid. He’s pine blank like ’s
Boys
I ollers
gwine ter be a big lawyer — ki!”
and Aunt Cora scrubbed industriously the little chamber-
floor until a spot of tarnish would have been a phenomenon.

Recent events had rendered Edalia inquisitive on

mother, too; an’’e’s boun’ ter come ter some good,
as favors their mothers is born ter good luck,
knowed it — an’ now ’e’s

some
points relative to Walter’s parents, that she had heretofore
been regardless of, and she inquired :

“Tell me of Walter’s father, aunty,— where did he die?”

“ Lor’ bless yer heart, honey, he ain’t dead yit, not’s I
knows on —’cep’ brandy ’s carred ’im off! He used fur
ter be a mighty hard drinker in Miss Evy’s day; an’ arter
she died, po’ thing, he Jes’ turned out an’ drunk an’ gambled
all ’is fortin away, an’ then he went, too,—the Lord in
heab’n knows whar, —I don’t. He used fur ter be a mighty
rich man, when Miss Evy marred ’im — rich as Kresus —
an’ a pooty man ’e was, too. But Miss Evy didn’t want
"im — she had ter have ‘im, though — po’ thing!”

“Why did she have to, aunty ?”

“T dunno, honey. Some folks ses how ’er pa fooled ’er
*bout bein’ broke, an’ ef she did n’t have Mr, Eldon ’e’d
kill ’isself. But I dunno nothin’ bout it, honey, on’y she
pined ’way arter it, an’ died when Mars Wallie was a little
baby — po’ thing!”

Walter’s father yet living! Here was a mystery ; and
Edalia resolved, with a spirit of newly awakened curiosity,
to probe it to the bottom. She knew the early history of
Walter, —that her own sainted mother had adopted him,

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 85
after the death of Mrs. Eldon; and when she became an
orphan, they both passed under the

edmond ; but Edalia had been taught to regard him as a
fatherless boy.

guardianship of Mr.

v a]
The dreaded day at length dawned —a clear, blue Sep-
tember

of f

morning, dreamy and languid with the faint breath

ading flowers, and the low hum of golden-winged bees,

“ning and sipping the nectar-drops in the consumptive

"autumn blossoms. It waned slowly, and “now

Came

; still evening on, and twilight gray had, in her sober
ive

ry, all things clad.”

The finishing touch had been given to Walter’s chamber,
— for Edalia prided herself on her housekeeping qualities,
80 freque

the parlor-window, looking out for the carriage, and listen-

Me to
bore

]

3 Adopting the language of Joseph to his brethren, allow
Me to ask, uncle, ‘doth Walter’s father yet live’?”

He turned upon her a searching glance.

“And why this inquiry now, Ed?”

<
Ol lave
at ical.”

ntly commended by her uncle,— and they sat at
catch the distant rumble of its revolving wheels, as it

Walter homeward from Enfield.
“dalia said, quietly :

casually learned, sir, that his death is problem-

. s . . : : 4 eg
Edalia detected a lurking smile in his large blue eyes,

a . . en PF
and Stew warm in consequence. He answered:

| BEE

, Can give you no positive assurance, but the prevailing
belieg founded upon circumstantial evidence, is, that Wal-
ter’s father has long filled an inebriate’s grave.”
“dalia forbore further interrogations.

“ . a - | »
Hit ’s cummin’, master!” shouted little Dick, springing
through
Tass - : ‘ : s ;
Brass ; then hurling his wool hat aloft, he caught it on his
-

the gate, and turning a somerset on the green

 
86 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY,

toes, and shot off to enlighten the occu

pants of the kitchen
department.

Mr. Redmond hurried out as the vehicle drew up, and
received the descending form of

a tall young man in his ex:
tended arms,

Edalia wondered at such manifest affection.
Aunt Cora poked her black head, enveloped in a snow
white ’kerchief with a tremendous bow in front, into the
parlor as the two gentlemen advanced, and whispered, ex-
citedly :
“ Lor’ bless yer heart, honey, how’e is growed! — taller ’n

marster ’e is —ki!” and she made a precipitate exit, as

he piazza, and voices came floating up.
Edalia rose, as her uncle entered the
stood face to face with Walter Eldon,
of four years; but what a change h
wrought!

footsteps sounded on t

apartment, and
after a separation
ad those four years

He advanced smilingly

and with extended hand; Edalia
had thought to welcome

him with sisterly feeling and frank:
ness, but an indefinable emotion possessed he
up into those full and fathomless
him with dignified restraint,

r,as she looked
blue eyes, and she received
shrinking instinctively from
the soft touch of his lips upon her forehead.

Mr. Redmond dropped into his old arm-chair,

with a non-
chalance that

satisfaction with himself,
“all the world, and the rest of mankind;” while Walter
took possession of one hard by, designated b
of the old gentleman; and Edalia stole
the tea-board,

indicated perfect

y the forefinger
out to superintend

She was busily employed thereat, when, looking up, she
observed the tall form of the young man towering in the
doorway, his earnest eyes bent, half mournfully,
flushed face. He went slowly up to her and extended his
hand. She laid hers nervously upon the soft, warm palm,
and his fingers closed gently but firmly around it,

upon het

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY, 87

“Miss Redmond ! — shall I address you by that cold and
formal title?”

“No, no! call me, as in the years gone by, Walter. Why
Should we not be as then?”

“There is no cause for change, Edalia; but your cool re-
“eption and reserved air inspired the fear that change had
“ome over ene — but not my heart.”

“Nor mine, Walter. I have ever, and shall always
Cherish for you the affection of a sister.”

His clasp suddenly tightened and relaxed as if involun-
tarily ; then gently releasing her hand, he stood in momen-
tary silence with folded arms.

Edalia had never seen him look so handsome. His curl-
ag chestnut-hair, changing and glittering in the lamplight,
Was Swept gracefully back, from a broad, high, and deli-
Cately white forehead, the veined purity of which a city
elle might have envied. The pink of the sea-shell mantled

"a Cheeks once round, but now evincing the unwearied

i

lent ; and his eyes — those large, soft blue eyes, compar-

© to nought but the liquid heavens of a clear, mellow
Sunset jn

balmy June — were expressive of sunshine and
sh ‘

adows commingled in the depths of the soul.:
“ Thank you, Edalia — dear sister ; whatever fate has in
Stc

lations we may bear in the dim future, —may the unfading

freshn
: ee

be the one green spot in memory’s waste.

He turned to go, as Aunt Cora entered with both hands
Well lade

10 order to grasp his proffered hand.
« ‘

God bless ye, Mass Wallie! I’s so glad I dunno what

: . nortan
£r do, ter see ye back safe an’ sound ergin!
hear

ful]

re for us In years that may come,— whatever se parate re

ess of our happy and confiding childhood days ever
n with tea-service, which she hastened to put down

Lor’ bless yer
t, honey, I ain’t eat nuthin’ in a week hardly, was so
0’ glad ter think ye was comin’ back! But I gwine ter

 
 

 

 

 

88 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

make up for los’ time ter-night, though —’deed I is,
honey!” and she wiped her wet eyes with the corner of her
check apron.

Walter’s eyes moistened as he listened to the expressions
of delight from the faithful and affectionate old servant,
and replying to her artless demonstrations to her entire
satisfaction and admiration, he hurried away.

Aunt Cora poured out, to her young mistress,. profuse
praise of the “ dear, pooty boy.”

Dr. Montrose, Minnie, Charles Chester, and Bertha Bel-
mont gathered around the cheerful hearth of Mr. Redmond
that night. All was mirthful and gay, save the hidden
heart that wildly throbbed beneath the dark bodice of
silently suffering Edalia.

A song was called for. Walter led Miss Redmond to the
piano; Charles tossed the blue ribbon of the guitar over the
bright brown curls of his affianced, and gallant Uncle Ned
escorted our heroine to the melodeon. They played and
sang in concert, the gentlemen supplying a deep, rich bass.

Mr. Redmond laid his hand jocosely upon Walter's
shoulder, as the music ceased and the performers rose.

“Come, sir, we wait your lordship’s favor. A young
gentleman fresh from Randolph, deficient in such an es-
sential accomplishment, ought to be arrested on the ground
of false pretences, and deprived of his blazing diploma!”

With a mysterious smile, the young man turned silently,
and walked deliberately to the piano. To the infinite sur-
prise of all, and the delight of Mr. Redmond, he dashed
off a simple prelude with graceful accuracy, and sang to an
accompaniment the sweet and plaintive air, ‘“Oft in the
stilly night.” As the last note died softly away, Mr. Red-
mond queried :

“Where learned you this science, young man ?”

Walter glanced mischievously up :

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 89

itd
At college, sir.”
om
The deuce you did! And the teacher wore boots and
Whiskers as lerst: 9”
Ss, we are to understand ?
“ T .
No, sir;
‘A perfect woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command.’”

«
eae Ge iris
Pen ! you young scapegrace !— been falling in love, eh?”
‘ ay of crimson rolled over the young man’s face, and
Ipple a : . y + F -
A Ppled off tinder the rings of nut-brown hair, leaving his
ace ps : : : ‘
pale and inflexible as marble.
ars Innie gave Edalia a sorrowful glance, which she returned
Ith a glad smile.
A shadow rested Mr. R ’s :
adow rested upon Mr. Redmond’s brow as the

«
LO = .
€ od night” was uttered, and Edalia went up to her
Chamber,
Diy 6
ai rolled herself up on the hearth-rug, and very speedily
* N@ayvy «a ‘ > 5 + :
“eavy sound issued from the heap that assured her young
Mistre :: 7
child
i

hay oe :
ss of her utter obliviousness; and Edalia —the petted
of fortune — envied the poor slave, so humble and
SNorant

m
rehie blood burned in her veins, and her brain throbbed.
self re bg no necessity for restraint now, and she threw her-
an ” bed and burst into a passion of tears. She wept

& and freely, till the footsteps of her uncle and Walter,

Ascen .
a ding the stairs, roused her, and she rose to prepare for
1€ night

: Mr, }
fulne 3S 5
Passed,
door sh

%edmond had evidently recovered his wonted cheer-

he chatted gayly with his companion as they
and his merry laugh grew distant as the chamber-
ut them in.

As Raai: : :
nas “dalia bound back the long black ringlets with which
ature h

fa ad crowned her, from her swollen eyes and flushed
< *e ve

a EY gm] ; y i
»& queer smile came over the features reflected in the

o*

 

 

 
 

 

90 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

mirror before her. Her eyes had fallen upon a little dress-
ing-case, the gift of Mr. Redmond on her seventeenth birth-
day. It was composed of rosewood banded with pearl,
cushioned with crimson velvet, and surmounted by a pure,
white, transparent shell, on which glistened the golden ini-
tials W. E.; and she smiled at the prediction of the bug-
oracle, now that she felt there was a duplicate barrier to its
fulfilment. A secret spring revealed a tiny cell, containing
a sealed missive, addressed ‘To Edalia Redmond, my
darling niece,” and was disclosed to her with the words:

“ Promise me, Edie, that you will never possess the secret
herein contained until I am no more, or grant you per-
mission.”

“ T do promise, uncle.”

“Enough, my child; I confide implicitly in your inte-
grity.”

A wayward spirit now possessed Edalia, and she lifted it
from its hiding-place. Did it concern her? She would have
given much in her restless state to read the secret story ; but
the memory of her sainted mother, and her early teachings,
“Thou God seest me,” as she knelt in infancy at her knee,
with her loving hand upon her little head, came over the
yearning child, and. she dared not violate the vow. She
returned the letter to the little case, and retired to rest.
She slept and dreamed: She wandered with Minnie on the
verge of a frightful precipice. Flowers of richest hue and
luxuriance bloomed profusely around, and the atmosphere
was heavy with perfume. Bird-songs drifted on waves of
sunny air, and echoed in the dark wild cavern below. <A
blossom of rare beauty attracted her eye, and she leaned
over to gather it from the side of the chasm. Minnie
bounded forward, and merrily plucked it from beneath her
hand; but the fang of a serpent was thrust into her delicate
finger as she snapped the slender stem. Faint with pain

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 91

and fright, Minnie tottered over the awful steep! Edalia
&rasped her arm as she descended, and falling upon the
frightful verge, held her light form suspended in mid-air
and screamed in agony and horror.

She knew not from whence he came, but a strong arm
Was thrown firmly around her, and Walter Fldon drew
them both from the frightful gulf!

Edalia awoke, and started up with a shudder. It was
morning ~— clear, calm, and sun-bright.

She made a hasty toilet, and descended tothe parlor. Mr.
Redmond received her with his usual morning salute. His
round, rubicund face was radiant with good-humor and his
big blue eyes were brimful of sparkles. sueh
‘cee ocean Ed; the boy is six feet in love,

> gh! and now we’ll have a wedding by-and-by, and
the deuce will be to pay! Kiss her, Wall, —she sg only a
Sister, you know.”

Edalia submitted quietly to the process, and felt his lips
quiver :
Did he

slightly, as he pressed them warmly upon her cheek.
fancy he wronged the loved one far away ?

 

CHAPTER XVIII.
MINNIE’S BRIDAL.—SHE “SOWETH THE WIND.”

[ was the bridal eve of Minnie Montrose. The heavens
- Were dull and leaden-hued, and a drizzling rain made
™ist-wreaths upon the window-panes, as Edalia Redmond
Stood alone in her chamber, looking at the illuminated

eitod « & : ‘
“nsion. She was repeating, mentally, the lines of poor
By rehiea

 

 

 

 
 

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

«And fiends might pity what I feel,
To know that thou art lost forever!”

as an expression of her own sensations, when the door
opened and widow Wilmer entered.

Edalia and Bertha were among the six chosen brides-
maids, and the fair widow had kindly volunteered to pre-
side at the toilet of Mr. Redmond’s niece.

Widow Wilmer was a handsome woman of thirty-three,
reduced in circumstances through the intemperance of her
lost liege, and the mother of five badly disciplined responsi-
bilities. The fair widow was amiable outwardly, with a
leaning towards the rich that rendered her often unjust to
the poor when the two came in contact, and charity de-
manded an equal distribution of her favors; and rumor
whispered the wealthy got more than their share. She
coveted praise, and gave alms to receive it; but those who
penetrated beneath the surface of mere seeming, were re-
minded of St. Paul’s declaration, “sounding brass, or a

“

tinkling cymbal.” She was related to the “money,” and
“Thomsonian medicine” tribe, but an old feud had long
separated the relatives. She was sly and supercilious, with
a shining tissue of sanctimony thrown over to soften her
salient points. Bertha Belmont had fedt the distinction the
fair widow made between the favored of fortune and the
poor in purse.

Judging from various womanly wiles and gentle arts,
Mrs. Wilmer would willingly have borne to Edalia Red-
mond the interesting relationship of aunt, could her con-
firmed old bachelor uncle have been induced to “see it in
that light.”

Edalia had often wondered at his predilection for single
blessedness, but no banterings thereupon could elicit aught
pertaining to the past, or reveal the curtained mysteries of
the soul’s inner sanctuary.

BERTIIA, THE BEAUTY, 93
Ri a6
FO asa eevee as the long black ringlets drifted
Peat rag 2 pre wae fingers of the smiling widow, and
dade ‘ y wey es over her neck and shoulders. The
eae . owy wreath was twined above cheeks scarcely less
@, 2 id the sacrifice was prepared.
mage earnestly into the young girl’s eyes, as they
o the bridal chamber.

“Are you ill, Edalia?”

ih essary you.”
Bee er ae blushes, and Charles
that brilliant and gay idole a i ois diceallotad
Shela ar se y, and vowed eternal love and
hee on agile orm that, dove-like, trembled at
ai we pap an my marital compact was set upon her
hs Say ig lips, and Misnie Montrose was merged into

i, and destiny of Charles Chester.
me ap ieee round form at length became visible
itoairep $ a oe 4 a bran new suit of the latest
Stood heudidos Paalia sok B tea a. vag, fo
inaltahieet eae ax ei is cha, with a moat graceful
whe iM s little shiny head, and drew off a delicate

cid with sovereign grace and ecstasy.

“< N .
Mr. Eldon, I have the supreme felicity and honor of

extez * . a :
iding this palm of unequivocal friendship, after the

pace er a ashe rotations. Permit me, sir,
estimable slacks Ubrwaiaiallae : aac rh
citadel of Bp ty OEE: you bac rom a remote
Oi key ce anya er your temporary sojourn with all
AP as i ea ta of adolescence ; for verily, sir, vera
einkow “ by vical a ae have recently, sir, revelled in the
and uate te ra sublime Niagara, with its organ tones
aig Ns ey ppl ane pee the labyrinthine

am, or it would have been my delightful

Prerogat; ‘ :
Sative, ere this enchanting hour, to vociferate my

 

 

 

 
 

 

94 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

enthusiastic desire for the renewal of long dormant associa-
tions of amity.”

The little lord drew himself up with a regal air, as he
concluded his eloquent declaration, and deigned an acknowl-
edgment of Edalia’s presence by a slight and supercilious
shake of his systematically arranged curls.

He had evidently not forgiven her rejection of the honor
he would so condescendingly have conferred upon her.

Mirth and music floated from many a ruby lip; “the
merry dance went round, and joy was unconfined.” The
sparkling wine painted a brighter rose upon youthful
cheeks, and lent unusual lustre to beaming eyes.

A goblet of crimson liquid deepened and flashed in the
hands of the happy bridegroom.

«A health to the beautiful bride!” echoed many voices,
as he placed it untasted upon the board.

“No! I’ve forsworn the sparkling bowl! — it is easier to
resist than reform. ‘Lead me not into temptation, but
deliver me from evil.”

A peal of merriment greeted this remark. Charles stood
calm and unaffected; but the rich blood mounted to Min-
nie’s brow, and she placed the glass in the hand of the
bridegroom with an inviting smile !

Edalia and Bertha exchanged reproachful glances, and
observed Walter start, slightly. He bent over and said,
lowly, but earnestly :

“Charles, beware!”

The bridegroom turned to his adviser.

“Years have passed since I drank of the fruit of the
vine, but I obey the behest of my fair bride.”

Walter grew white as the glass sent up its empty, silvery
ring, as Charles replaced it upon the board. The two girls
caught the low sad voice of Walter, as they turned away,
whispering in the ear of the smiling bride:

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY, 95

He that sowethsthe wind, shall re

A

him

; ap the whirlwind!’”
shadow flitted over BY af
oes w flitted over her young face, and she threw after
& wistful, remorseful glance.

FE et 8 Ve S che Ss snec € é €
er ste 4
epped fory ard, his cheeks flushe ] to an unnatural

brill;
laney, and al igni
all the dignity of C i i
ite ; E gnity of Chesterfield tk
tslesuabomaee | thick upon
“ a"
Mr. Eld
- Eldon . 8 Wi
<Hashae , the honor of a glass with you.”
fetes exonerate me, Mr. Simpkins; my total abstine
ples must be my apology.”

Peter «
er “orew sm y de if
és dimes c é all by degrees, and beautifully le
hye ack among the gay group.
alla e e ey :
the of a resp the eye of Charles Chester at the close of
vening. yas bri i st
g. It was bright and burning, and a spot of
glowed on either cheek.

nce

aq 9? ¢
Ss, as

CTimson

 

CHAPTER XIX.

THR
D
ESERTED HOMESTEAD. — MISS AGNES BENTLEY. —
MINNIE “REAPS THE WHIRLWIND.”

AT INTE 5 i
\ TER passed quietly away, and with it Mr. Belmont

a ‘ami
the Whiemcan by Belmont received an urgent call to
amsvi
sa sville Academy —the place of our her
the low
the h

—and joyfully Mr. te
ytully Mrs. Belmont prepared to abandon

brow I Le
n ho 1 Ww I I 1AZZé
se ith the lo 1g DIAZZAa,

ands of a Wi
Berth 8 of a Wilmer.

& was se ee é e c ’ -

] k S now seven n, ar d very beautiful > child
Cc ¢ Pp ) 1€ € €

pO n her lelic ate roportions ; tl vdmir ution of the

ite sex

sex 7

sina , and envy of her own. Mr. Belmont procured
gant piano — muc ;

tlian Mie g piano— much handsomer and _finer-toned

W ilmer b h 2 V-prize 1 1 strument — and t en
ers Nil hl
£ | rized in . h l § l

It passed into

her

a teacher, Bertha’s persever:
, Bertha’s perseverance, together with

 

 

 
 

 

 

96 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

Minnie’s and Edalia’s kindness, had rendered our heroine
far superior to Dora as a performer, when she bade adieu to
the low brown house with the long piazza, and went back,
half sorrowfully, to the place of her birth.

Bertha yearned to see more of the wide world she had
caught a glimpse of in the clouded mirror of romances and
through the clearer microscope of the many journals and
specimen copies of magazines that crowded her father’s
office, and which she had devoured with avidity ; but the
pleasurable anticipations of exchanging a quiet country life
for one more alive with interest and excitement, amid the
changing panorama of every-day experience, were saddened
by the reflection of a necessary separation from her two
young friends — Minnie Chester and Edalia Redmond.

They wandered through the gold- and crimson-crowned
October woods, and talked over the coming separation ;
speculating upon Bertha’s future, out in the great, gay
world; and under the old maple, by the little spring,
where so many bright, happy hours of childhood had been
passed, they made solemn promises of regular correspondence
and unchanging affection.

Notwithstanding Minnie’s long-ago declaration that she’d
« warn Bert never to marry a Yankee,” she had never found
courage sufficient to perform the promise. She knew Bertha’s
love and reverence for her father, and with all her inde-
pendence and impulsiveness she could not look into the
clear depths of those truthful brown eyes, and insinuate
against the honor and honesty of the people to whom Mr.
Belmont belonged. Minnie’s scorn for, and abuse of,
Yankees, never found words in our heroine’s presence.

And so she went from the low brown house with the long
piazza, all unthinking of the fears that followed her, with 4
longing and pain in her youthful heart —a soul reaching
after something that was lost away in the years gone by:

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY 97
. vé

Wo 7

»uld 1 rer 9 CQ

Bi ever be found? She looked after the old home
“ad, with its time-stained os

With ye

it -ascn

palings and moss-cov :
Ra - 5 ss-covered roof
= ve : Of
ee ning in her dark eyes, until the thick grove sh t
t av " . ; M : nth gai
th ty from her mourning sight. Her yearni i
aes. ; ii g sig yearning gaze went
d homestead, down the years —
; e years — three years by-gone

—-and xs A . 5

Where eee n. 5 srient resol sa “the dear old place
® secret that sae cals ear ae geared in her hidden heart
through [eat Mas destined to live alone and unsuspected

Seta hie Ae we suffering years to come !

alone in ~ Ke Bs iJ [innie was married; and Edal
Walter ri igh oF Komi es and 9
4a vere absent,
CYapery, and a lig
through, a

ia was
re ad. Mr. Redmond and

The cool breeze lifted the window-
ht from Minnie’s apartment flashed

The id a ¢ f wl Vv

te li ea oecurred to her ) * whili P

c haa “ wi q iling awa) the
W ife

Wit

o AV eveninoe wi
be: ong May evening with the young and cheerful
cheer i , H
ae eerful, but not as in other days, Her gushes of
Zh sae : YS. gusnes oO
nirth seemed forced and foreign, and her liveliest
2 e€1les

Sal] Ca. « are ‘ed tl € r anc r1ness
ay I eared tinctu

pi rec With ‘ V

Au t Cora re anguc r an 1 Veariness.

‘ie marked the evident ch:
Slaimat evident change, and one day ex-

ah

dunno what’ S

; what’s come ter Miss Mi

like oe me ter Miss Min, honey. She

‘ Ia ain’t
rT aleaeeiet dunno why = .
harles ig a mighty ie uiaad though, fur Mars
Anis ghty pooty man, an’ ’pears so ’fecti :
It pend’ 2 pears so fectionate like ;
4 “pon it, honey, she ain’t happy!” :

Ea
there

» somehow.

€

alia’s ten 3
aS thoughts went back a few months is she t
t S, as she sa

ar re
ee ad. looked over at the light
Tl & wife’s chamber. :
1e Village
1we-teacher we 7

‘as ne - teacher wedded during the winter, and a ney
4s to be procure y i ee

A e procured. Walter Eldon guar:
guaranteed to sup-

glimmering from the

ye bite eras 0 :
TI, vacancy with ac
© morni
ning subseque is di
g subsequent to s discussi isi
1 this discussion and decision

Telatj

MUVG. to 1 1a » ;

denase g we pita Edalia approached the news-stand to
. M4 etter f 4 Ss 4 i iit

Soa ii or the post, when her attention was arrested

lies issi V
ate missive arin: 4 :
sive bearing \ alter 8 superscription

G

ompetent successor.

, and

 

 

 

 
 

98 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

addressed to “Miss Agnes Bentley, Richmond, Virginia.”
Unconsciously she repeated it aloud, when two hands were
laid clumsily upon her shoulders, and a jovial voice be-
trayed “Uncle Ned’s” proximity. Edalia started, ner-
vously, and felt the warm current rushing rapidly up.

“ Why, hey-day, young lady!—what the deuce !— red
as a beet, by Jupiter!”

“No wonder, uncle, considering the provocation.”

“Fiddlesticks!—did n’t used to be so scary! What’s
the trouble, eh? Hallo! what’s here?” —and he picked
up Walter’s letter.

“Confound ’er!” ejaculated the old gentleman, with a
corrugated brow, but a twinkle of mirth that lingered
about his compressed lips as he scrutinized the envelope ;—
“confound ’er! I’ll bet two chincapins that’s Wall’s music
divinity, and the bug ’s a loyal descendant of one of Ahab’s
prophets — blast it!”

Little Dick fortunately protruded his round head into the
hall.

“Please, sir, Mars Wallie say ’e wants ter see ye in de
office.”

Edalia escaped further tortures, and soon observed them
galloping swiftly away.

Two weeks after, as Edalia sat in the piazza one quiet,
early twilight, amid the floating fragrance of thick, golden

jessamine-blossoms, and sparkling spring roses, nodding
and swaying in sweet low gushes of evening winds, looking
over at the low brown house with the long piazza, and
dreaming of far-away Bertha, a heavy rumble came drifting
down the broad white road, and soon a dusty and spattered
varriage came rolling on.

Walter sprang from the office-door at the sound, followed
by Mr. Redmond, and strode rapidly to the gate. A white
handkerchief waved from the carriage-window as it passed

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY, 99

the y : i
oem man, who followed swiftly to the low brown house
vi jazi ) ,
ms the long piazza, the temporary home of Agnes Bentley
. > . Ҥ : if
Mr, Redmond went slowly up, and threw himself down
yer] x : : 5 . :
eside Edalia, with a mortified air.
«cm > + . .
She’s come, Ed —the little gipsy — confound ’er!”

“ § i "

Who has come, uncle? You speak enigmatically. I
don’t ¢ ° P.
; comprehend.

Ty ae Talla . mn eae
* W hy, Wall’s music divinity — Agnes Bentley — the
1001-marm — little witch —be hanged to ’er! Should ’ve

neice Ciaidid laa ll g

. ght the boy might ’ve got in love nearer home. For my

part, I think there aré as good-looking girls hereabouts ‘as
in forei steerer : i Yo
' a parts; but de gustibus non disputandum. You
ook sorrv. Fd 3

OK sorry, Ed?”

“Me? — indeed. si
cy ef no indeed, sir! I don’t care a fig about it,

8 of no consequence > W sy
= Abigin equence to me whom the young gentleman
ancies,

There was a clear glitter of s ing i i in hi
Shane: as a clear glitter of something inexplicable in his
8m res ag . j

Ming eyes, as he turned silently away and passed into
the hall,

The sueceeding day was stil shi
Sabie veding day was a sti 1, sunshiny, and lovely
és vat 1. Edalia walked to church with Mr. Redmond
slane at Minnie’s pew. she i ei
care ing at Minnie’s pew, she met her eye, which directed
a in an opposite quarter. Following the indication, she
“ne | > W

countered the large, deep orbs of Walter Eldon. Beside

hir *
nN ght a fair. ceweot om , 1 }
Sit a fair, sweet girl robed in deep mourning. Her eyes

Were be
€ bent upon her hymn-book, and the long lashes that fell

AINA over them, pencilling her pure white checks, were
fo 3 black and silky, giving her youthful face a pensive
a re me wey wenith of pale,
tena. oe “7 si I es rac over a smooth,
aac ad in light, numerous braids. She lifted the

ige of those veined lids as Edalia gazed upon her,

8nd a pair of mi; ;
pair of mild dewy hazel eyes unveiled their hidden
Oveliness,

 

 

 

 
 

100 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 101

Mr. Redmond bent down, and whispered in Edalia’s ear:
“No wonder Wall loves her!”
But what had become of Minnie’s beauty? The bril-

blo
od rushed to his br
8 s brow, and her own cheeks :
: reeks rned fro
RY can ks burned from

<a
Che color r if’
receded swiftly fro is fac
thd ate Aen ‘ m his face, and
gid and marble appearance she had once
9 DServe vari igi j j tes
— became visible in his features
:

. Ir, Redmond noted the change, and made 1

alusion to the lovely stranger :

liancy was gone from her eye, and her round cheek had lost before
its plumpness and bloom.

Dr. Montrose, too, appeared moody and dejected ; Charles
alone retained all the vestiges of his former self.

Edalia returned to her quiet chamber, and fell into a
train of restless reflections and surmises, from which the

10 further

Aunt Cora overhear i i
yra overheard this conversation, and with all the

sacaci 7 > ar pare faj

’ a ty of her race failed not to comment upon it at the
ar ret=1 : re
arhest possible convenience. :

 

dinner-bell aroused her. She descended. Mr. Redmond and “Lor pl ;
™ diess your hear 71 ‘
: ut, honey!” she exclaimed, the in-

sts

pple a este upon the retiring gentlemen, “I never

Siles = oy seve 1ard ¥ n Mars Wallie! The very name

we ia # wo ter as yers! I used ter think you was

as ‘ he dda specially when the snail writ in de
: never knowed snails ter fail *fore ; but all siens

Walter awaited her, and they passed into the dining-room.

“And so, Wall,” commenced Mr. Redmond, — “
Wall, that’s your inamorata, eh? <A deuced pretty girl, by
Jupiter! Ill bet two chincapins, I get a kiss from her red
lips in less than a week o’ Sundays, and cut you out yet,
boy! I say, Ed, isn’t she handsome, or ‘harnesome,’ as
the Yankees say — eh?”

“ Very.”

“Humph! short as pie-crust, by Jupiter! But tell us, Sir
Walter, who and what she is — your Virginia blossom ? —
because, as that same Yankee I’ve just quoted from, says,

and so,

fails n ary Vv ath r h mey: an as ¢ yr "4 1 rs 3
lry Vee y € wa I 7 1
e er, ; twas a n ght y ne

las’ May, shore ’nuff. chi
is’ May, shore ’nuff, chile! I does wish, Mars Wallie ’d

never o .
; ever gone ter Rando’f,

,

cause den ’e w ; yer §

Sh acto : len ’e would n’t never seed
y!” and Aunt Cora sighed, dolefully

Pisa

Bien, pein and indefinable feelings of gloom

pine ni = ry = she retrospected the past, Edalia threw

eee ene ; ae started for the Doctor’s. With ac-

besiege ve wit ne entered the hall without premonition
proceeded towards Minnie’s apartment; but high tones

I want tew know!”

“The daughter of a broken merchant, sir, upon whose
exertions an invalid mother and three young children are
dependent. Our acquaintance was purely fortuitous. We

arrested |} :
: - a ae 8 ver as she advanced, ae ere :
met at the mansion of a wealthy citizen of Richmond, she tntoll: aerdateicte4t adve sine and inadver tently she hesi-
rete : > aoe ; ate saught the words:
acting in the capacity of music instructress to his daughters. “ Pshaw! bide indy? .
. Series shaw! a woman’s everlas ai ia :

Her history, as related by the benevolent millionaire, en- @ man to the dev} ; asting tears are enough to drive

ne devil! You need n’t sit up for me,’as I have

listed my sympathies, and I sought her residence and 4n appoi
Aaa OE her.” f ppointment that may perhaps detain me till a late hour
pé z —— a : you are lonely, send for Edalia.” our.
And fell in love upon the strength of it, without even Rais ie'a'd 1 fri si
= - é 2 S a dear, food riend, b t ire ®

a ‘by your leave, Uncle Ned,’ eh?” ensate ‘ Sirs , but no society can com-
hs STO leave, Uncle 1 eal eh? ; x Pensate me for the loss of yours. For my s “ bees

Edalia stole a glance at W alter to mark his expression, Charles.” 3s 1y sake, don’t go,
and caught his eye askance in her direction. The rich

“< Wi . A )
1en rill you ha i SUC i
noe W y ve done with suc h nonsense, i Tinnie t

 

 

 
 

102 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. ae ons
o ’ BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 102

Do you suppose I’m going to be held in leading-strings

ack é yasse( ) > VC ry Ys @ PY. S
» an 1 3 (
] Asse 1 int the young vife’s cham er he lay

eternally, and mope down here with a silly woman, when Upon a sofa, unconscious of her friend
m » BDCORS s of her friend’s presence, } :
’ ‘ e, her slight

 

I’ve an engagement that demands fulfilment to-night?”

“Time was, Charles, when no society was preferable to
mine — when you thought it not irksome to pass a quiet
evening alone with me. It is not that I would deprive you
of enjoyment, Charles, but that I would have you avoid
temptation.”

“Temptation be ——! If I have become a slave to the
wine-cup, it was you who wound the first coil of thraldom
around me! You should not reproach me for becoming a
proficient under your own teaching!”

“Oh, Charles, if repentant tears could efface the memory
of that act, it would long ago have been obliterated from sad
remembrance! Let me not have the misery of seeing you
sink into ruin and degradation through my agency, Charles!
l have atoned for the past by bitter remorse and anguish!
Promise me, Charles, to resist, to-night, the insidious wiles
of the destroyer to indemnify me for your absence.”

“No; I leave you to the indulgence of your own pro-
pensities, and claim the same privilege, by 2

“Oh, Charles, Charles, you are breaking —my— heart 178
and a deep sob burst from the poor weeper.

Hasty footsteps approached the door. Edalia retreated
across the hall, and shrank back into the parlor as Charles
Chester issued from the apartment, and strode out into the
night.

‘And this was her idol! The object of so many sweet
dreams and seeret sighs! Edalia shuddered, and thanked
the omniscient Being for frustrating every hope of her girlish
heart associated with Charles Chester.

Tremblingly she crept from her concealment, and went

softly to the door; but the query arose, “should she leave

Minnie thus alone and wretched ? » She went deliberately

Childhood ;

your fj

Sure me

forn iveri
N quivering wi itati
ier {Ulvering with agitation, and the fair curls falline in

2 lacs a — ‘ i yo
ess clusters over her face and arm
and knelt beside her.

« ° :
Minnie dear.”

Edalia went softly

She starte
started up, and a dee es
face, * deep flush swept over her tearful

“T’m so glad you’y
glad you ’ve come, Ed.

hisiae I was just going to send

Charles is gone, :

BoE wan oges sis gone, and papa, and I’ve made ac-

MF iciie : with the vapors to-night. But sit down here, Ed

e 9 2 > a . i .

aie demolish the fortress of Major Blue, and make sis
Soner of war wi

‘ ith a go ry ché i

Bieias a good, merry chat as in the olden
And st

she laughed gayly, wi iqui

Merida ighed gayly, with the large liquid tears swim-

§ 1n her languid blue eyes.

E

dalia strugel Ss r che
a , £ ed to repress e i
Into 55 press e motion, and enter ch erfully

her as
ass Od 3 i ¢
‘coe ssumed mood; but her thin face, smiling tl
Ptiage-co sr open , g through
aa art-sorrow to conceal the worthlessness of him
ad crushed her one iri nae?
mies: ate hed her once glad spirit, subjugated her firm
“SS, and she . . " ¥ rt 8
ba » Gud dip dropped her head upon the sofa-cushion and
St into tears. : a
Minnie f
Linnie fe ack wi
fhsacs e fell back with a low, heart - broken ery, and
iO anak bath teat) tes ees
i g an arm over her friend’s neck, laid her
lead beside Edalia’ 1i ccsineligs sci
‘ udalia’s, ax : restrai ; .
ear mig a's, anc indulged unrestrainedly in the
“st tears. She sobbed:

ree
Adie, why yeep |
»W . do you weep?’ We have been friends from
“For et nothing part us now.”
. es Minnie! I mourn for the destruction of all
_. dairy dreams at rillis .
She me a - id brilliant hopes! I know all, Minnie,”
er face ¢ as si rhi ‘ai
itera ace and was silent, while a faint rose tinge
1 | ad over her fair neck. *
t was i
s my duty to conceal his defects. You don’t cen
for want of confidence, Edie?”

 

 

 
 

SEAT e BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 105
104 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

ha In > ’ ’ : —" 0 aa
] by IS Woke . P She w , , reg Sao
Jo, Minnie; I honor the motive that withheld that con- Hy Piness —poor Bert! She will be the unr sisting victim
“ ] — igh isti
eGR ill let me share your sorrows, and vr & father’s prejudice and an idolized brother’s influence !
idence Sut now, you wl ; e share yc § Sai
fidence. But now, : 6s aia ailtaiiceess Ahiteas tee I said it years ago ee
sympathize in all your future suiterings, ar g : as “nN or:
F aE ‘ vorthy of your love —of his!
“Oh, Edie, I am unworthy of y vile

y hope she will fly at the last!”

0! she will be led as a lamb to the slaughter! She
i . : and reverences her father. ; ill sacrifice herself
roucht my own misery, and his ruin! I tempted = nd reverences her father, and will sacrifice herself to
have wroug 1 17 Stk nid not endure their derision ; I ey his will. I wish he understood her better; for she is
: ‘ » fell! 3u coulc . 80 Shak ine a = .
him, and he fe tl 1 was deluded, and now we are shy, even her father has failed to sound the great deep of
"heen ° 2 strength an as a. e > - a *p n :
trusted in his streng ide dark sea, far from the shore of ‘er nature, if indeed he ever made the effort. He is a
drifting out on the wide dé sea, Strange m
Hope!” 3 “ ve his jud
“Be composed, Minnie; all hope is not lost. I see a star

 

an — good-natured, easy, and honest, and thinks
gment a sphere higher than the rest of mankind’s,
, 4nd will have his
> - ave nis
me? ae i s golden ray may guide
shining through the clouds, and its g “d Jd

] way in matters that concern others of his
1ousehold more
you back into the haven of repose,

intimately than himself. I wish such people

Would mind their own business, or live as single as St. Paul,
all their days.
choice,

‘With truth undimmed within thy breast, He will suffer severely, if she marries his

SEF 59 : 3 c ‘ is
Bear on, and leave to God the rest. with no choice of her own, for he loves her, and will

be

. . Unished for hi 3 presen influ nce b ‘a witn ssine h . fi =
. , ood ] S$ pres tiny ie
She grew gradually calm and confiding, as in childh

oe J ent € j

x : ture . ”»
AYS, ¢ 4Uatie € 3, 1 =) $ é é ness.
d LY and Ek dalia learne d that Charle $s, In his hood, vas apy SS
ays, > > boy V unh

: : intoxicating bowl, till his mother, “TI don’t know; I’ve heard it said that Yankees are glad
wont to indulge in the intoxicating ’ ¥ teres; sndithihiaeiniae
surprising number of divorces in Yankeedom con-

The marriage-vow up there is about as binding

1 of woe ! 48 the one our darkies make when the
bride, was but the prelude to an anthem ¢ >! ;

to vet yi . . .
i i : ‘orm Set rid of their children on an
T romise of reforma- Rise
on her death-bed, extorted from him a proses .) for io
tion, which was preserved inviolate until his wedding eve;
’

"4 tinuall zs
and the glass, proffered by the fair hand of his smiling J

y jump over a broom
to the uncertain state of matrimony. If it doesn’t suit

all pari :
DS ae dartles » "4 > |e 2
: hile smiles and tears struggled for eres es, they wipe out the land»
her closing remark, while smiles ¢ 5S & very e mae c
aia a eaten : Y convenient law, and take

State, but from a different
Const

Pay]

arrying a Yankee, Ed!” was
“JTt’s almost as bad as marrying a Yankee, E

ark with the sponge of
another leap into the same
point of the compass. Their

: ri ar faded blue eyes.
supremacy in her fac j ~—
“That reminds me of what’ I had forgotten. I have | |
1a ‘ Minnie.” ant practice does n’t recognize the higher law that St.
letter from Bertha, Minnie. | ih
“Poor Bert! I wish I had warned her before she went.

ho ey
s,s eve
> her corres one ear it is too late ‘

From the tone of her correspondence, I fes aa,

to, and which governs our Southern people.
t heard of a divorce being applied for in this part
ral vineyard ?”
” “Ty + 499
now. ie ote never did
ee ee acement-ring is on her .
“Tt is too*late, Minnie; the engagement-ring

«¢ Ky

«yy» and never will — until Pilgrim Rock is floated by
” '
finger, and yet —

him, Ed,—I ean see that; and Northern enterprise’ down the Atlantic and landed on the
ret 8 2 m, Ed,—1 can se wasoaih COas . : ack ;
“And yet she don’t love him, “i, late for her future ‘st of Pamlico Sound, and the principles that inhere
she will awake to the sad truth when too late for he

 

 

 

 
 

 

106 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

become a permanent institution in the South! If the
Northern States are so much superior to ours in morals and
manners, why do Yankees set in a full tide towards the
tropics? You never meet with a Yankee, but he is inces-
santly lauding up the North to the detriment of the South.
Mr. Belmont one day boasted of his native State as the
‘land of steady habits,’ and I told him, politely, I did n’t
question the appropriateness of the term, since it certainly
required very ‘steady habits’ to make wooden nutmegs and
peg wheat sufficient for Yankee peddlers to supply the
South with seed, since he had no manufactories in operation
for that laudable purpose.”

“You didn’t, Min!”

«“ T did —he kindled just fire enough in my Carolina con-
stitution to give him a brand; and he was so easy tempered
that he laughed, and said I was ‘ smart enough to be a Yan-
kee,’—hum ! I informed him I was not aware that ‘smartness’
was limited by geographical boundaries; but if it were, and
the intellectual chain lay around free soil to the exclusion
of other territory, I was both willing and anxious to take
my chance outside of the line.”

Edalia threw her head upon the sofa-arm and laughed
until the shadows fled from Minnie’s thin face, and the
olden brightness came back to her blue eyes.

“T never could endure a Yankee — they have tormented
the South long before my day, and are likely to continue
the persecution so long as slavery exists, until we enact 2
law prohibiting Northern feet upon Southern soil. Just
think of the horrors of Cross Keys through the instiga-
tion of Northern men. And all for what? To free out
negroes, and take their place. If they are so philanthropi¢
and love the darkies so, why do they let fugitive slaves
suffer from neglect and indifference when they escape from
their masters and fly to them? It’s an old and true say”

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY, 107

ine ths ‘ $

g me actions speak louder than words.’
poor Bert is a
Str;

wlan And now,
going to marry one of the Yankee tribe, and ;
anger at that! With her ity fi pee
oa that | 1 her capacity for loving, and true
ig ern principles, what
Is befor f

efore her, if she unite
congenial spirit,

a life of yearning and struggling
s her destiny with one of an in
Sith yeni oe Horace Stanhope is not of her kind,
ters would breathe a far different tone. I know
a erie at rest, with all her admiration of his b

ction of being adored — poor Bert !”

her he:

€

eauty

iT N
No at res inni i
» hot at rest, Minnie; that is evident
1s has
been

thee : w Peter Simp-
: j : returned from Williamsville, where he has
attending court. He visite iv a
as ee ; ; ; visited Bertha, and gives not a
shat g account of her appearance

wis uppearance,
Seated g; .

Sin sadness in her brown eyes —a frequent introversion
€ ans cca z .
baie v6 the observer. Her rare beauty, he says, ‘has

? A : J ite pie inte

sa - 1e — upside-down ;’ the fame thereof has spread
“ 810 wide, and hosts of “sighing

3 10sts ‘lovers aro ighi

Mr, Bien fa a = lovers around her are sighing.’

avors > Yank suitor, w j

aa s the Yankee suitor, who is re

Some, and

Marri;

letter

kiy

e@ says sl é€ 18s
: H 7 3
5 and SOc iable as in other days, but there IS a deep-

markably
ee devoted to his beautiful fiancée —and the
ra J . 1

Se Is soon to be consummated. But here

ade is Bertha’s
» Minnie; read the poor girl’s fate.”

 

CHAPTER XX.
BERTHA’S LETTER.

AY is here — Mz

ay, With her lovely res
Coley y, her lovely blue eyes, golden

, and blossom-scen sathings. Sw
tie se sce ted breathings. Sweet, sunny-
ti ‘ She is beautiful, and softly wooing as ‘in the
7 er 7 + . 77 H % }
fina n we went gipsying a long time ago;’ but — but I
-njoy her licht : al in th
Joy her light and loveliness as in those peaceful, by-
>

 

 
 

108 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

ie BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 109
gone days, dear Edie. A change—a great change has come specl

4 ery > : . i . Speck of dist; . ax tie

over the spirit of my dreams, since that far-away time. IL aft of distant shore shines over the deep waters; and eve
. 5 % . on 4s ‘ “iter eve [ ask el "7: Pabst

say far away, for I seem to have lived a weary lifetime since ve Task myself ‘when will it end?’

rn

Piews i

' y call me bez ‘ ar A

tion my veautiful, and I look in vain at the reflec-

hourly p

I cast a longing, lingering look behind at the low brown
house with the long piazza.

mirror gives back for aught to justify the homage
| aid the substance of the shadow ;
Urn wi . i rs

With soul-hunger and thirst; pale

“Qnlv four months have been unlinked from the year Brown eyes that

and left upon the way-side of the past, since we said fare- , auburn hair with

pres as the York roses
W yeside the low brown house with the long piazza;
& visible ache i ; ( "youthful
; e in the ; sss features of ‘

on int ign ae sunless features of a youthful
the days of childhood look to retrospection’s eye. It seems ¢ eisapeae

“Oh, Edie, could I but nestle d i
rat ay pee a Beas
eee e down in my dear old home,

whe little and unknown,’ forever hidden from those
atter ¢ ( y !
: tter and follow me, I would ask no more on earth!

seems s y satisfyi
s so hollow and unsatisfying ; the chords of yduth

Rigs out in this aimless and dormant state. My soul
wig chap ge vanities and heartlessness *of the
Streams coe eet ears ig woot + he warbling
deep oan le et s— the sunshiny, silent meadow, and the
of the blooming and breezy woodlands that softly cradle shut ple of the fragrant and slumberous old pond that

 

. . glimm ma a 4
well; and yet I have lived on and on seemingly through ht ers of faded gold; face, colorless
) 8}) § Agatha
gre

vears of change and decay, down even to old age. Ido and
J ‘ ’ ba an ¢

not know —I cannot tell how far away in the dim distance

a long, long way back as I sit here in the fair light of a fresh
May-morning, and reach after the buried blessings that will
never come again from the days that dropped silently along Lif,

oC 4 eC

the pathway of the Past. ai
Py “are

“J used to yearn for the great world that glimmered up s
to imagination’s eye beyond the green rim that belted my
little, quiet home ; now I yearn more eagerly to steal away
from the great world, and hide securely in the purple nooks
the low brown house with the long piazza. ‘- coon out from the superficial and struggling life beyond.
a et See now appear the humble, rural ppp that
Teaching . : onotonous and insufficient to a restless spirit,
the view.’ ; dities ee ter the untired things across the narrow boun-
« Will you wonder, Edie, if I tell you I am tired of admi- ane of its lowly sphere.
ration? Will you think me ungrateful if I say I wish I had ] And thus it is: ‘ We

leak push time from us, and we wish it
been born destitute of that which the world calls beauty? I _,? We stretch our hands yearningly towards

“ How truly sang the poet: ‘Blessings brighten as they
take their flight,’ and ‘Tis distance lends enchantment to

ar 4 ‘ a seeming

am weary of being ‘followed, flattered, sought, and sued.’ I Philoson realize the good we thought to gain! Life’s true

: ri ‘ SOp is: ‘ Ser pa a :

want to rest. I-feel as though I were drifting upon a wide, to be phy is: ‘In whatsoever situation we are, therewith
> > content.’ ;

ae

blue ocean amid eternal sunshine with no green foliage

 

> . 6 sa r ' 6 : a
around to refresh the aching vision and no haven of repose w] y to be content now, and think it is God’s will that

lat is
in view. Drifting — drifting smoothly, prosperously, yet ta on to come to pass has been ordained in heaven

9 nots
Strucelé acains _£ .
Who gele against my fate, but follow quietly those

‘ _ alae 1: Woul Pe i‘
on, around the cycle of the sun-bright hours, for no white Ways, d not lead me wittingly into dark and toilsome

 

aimless and hopeless. Day after day the ocean voyage goes

10

 
 

110 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“Tt is my father’s and brother’s wish, that I should marry
Horace Stanhope, and I yield to their desire. Our nuptials
will be consummated in a few weeks, and you and Minnie

may expect cards of invitation.”

“T won’t go, I vow solemnly! ” interjected Minnie, with
two great tears stealing down her white, sunken cheeks;
“J won’t see her sacrificed by a Yankee father toa Yankee
stranger! I’d rather be a—a—” drunkard’s wife, she
meant to add, but Minnie’s tongue could not syllable the
sound. A wave of crimson rolled over her face, and, with a
choking sob, turned from the reader and lay very still.

Edalia swallowed hard and continued the letter.

«“ As IT have insinuated in a former communication, Mr.
Stanhope is very handsome and devoted as girlish heart
could wish. I think sometimes, nature fashioned me with-
out a heart, or it would have learned to thrill responsive to
his own. Perhaps it died years ago, and can never live
again. I hope so. It would be torment this side of eternity
to feel its capacity for loving another while bound irrevo-
cably to one! God save me from this trial of human
strength! There was a time when I thought I possessed a
heart as capable of affection as girlish bosom of fourteen
tender years ever hid.”

“Who, on earth, could it have been?”

Minnie sprang up, with eager questioning in her wide
open eyes. “T never imagined that Bert’s heart had been
touched by the blind god! So young, too — only fourteen !
Who was it, Ed?”

Edalia was musing. She was thinking of Bertha’s con-
fusion on the occasion of Mr. Redmond’s allusion to Dr.
Davin, and of her reply to him subsequently.

«Edward Redmond, Esq., perhaps?”

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 111

Could j
it be that her surmi
f surmises were correct ?
hy Balig. orrect? She rouse
Ip at Minnie’s eager inquiry es
“] j : > 1 ry.
1aven’t the slightest clue to th

A e discovery, Minnie:
srtha was always confidenti Pie

al with this exception. Strange
ba]

that y € T suspe t sa st y O,
© we never su sp >C 5S i
Sus Cc ed her! But Be rthe asa r €
V I ha he sas rons ’ d ep

soul, full

y equal to the heay
a J savy task of be
shetty y task of be

' I tc aring and con-
If he is livi ¥ ie
: iving, and she meets him af
“lr ld g; and she meets him after her mar-
is d be far better for her to die now!”

es
rat! w rou fear fi
rte at! would you fear for the consequences? Do
R ot her sense of duty and dis
‘edmond ?”

you
trust her h dali
rd s onor, Edalia
Minnie’s eyes flashed.

es 1Tte h LVI b 3

9 © € ) reac ed Ss ys

L é I ‘4 O otne!r | n self micht

be & castaway Bits iy I tl ? a) gh
. € awa y- We know what we how ar e, but not w h ut

We shall be,’” was Edali
as ine was Edalia’s non-committal answer
ell, J don’t dout ee = deh
: on’t doubt y J
doh oas : t her. She would die sooner than
Bert] 2B i 1e path of rectitude. That is my faith ix
‘Ttha Belmont’s principles, E Fa
Hie 8 principles, Ed. I know her.”
: a a smiled — a well satisfied smile
My faith is as str as y aad
tena ni he . strong as yours, Minnie; but no human
§ is allible; a vi a i
eS orca ; and with Bertha’s high sense of duty
Bete De Pa unusual capacity for feeling affection and
¢ ay © ve : ;
yas! ‘ t 3ertha can hate as well as love,) it would be far
~ 3) or — 7a > I. :
of bej r her to die now than pass through the fiery ordeal
4 eing hand-bound to one é ie
© you comprehend ?”
ete
“Yes.
Poor Bert !

and heart-given to another,

Y a6 : , P
ou mean she would suffer more than dying —
Now finish the letter.” x

“

tee It mus be ] at € i , ro)
my heart lied then with the fading
ay ay f fi ‘ li i 1 ;
N y that irst gir ish are

ess beneath th : h dream, and will lie forever pulse-
ea ath the ruins of its earliest hopes. You will wonder
“us, my friend; 1 |
wit “ : friend; but you will never know, and no one
ver k 7 i .
thing : now now more than is here written. Let th
gs Ye Tare ¢ A } ‘ oe °
at were, and the spring-roses that once were bri
g s that once were bright,

 
 

 

112 BERTHA, THE REAUTY.

lie under the mould of other and fairer years, that have
faded and gone. Would that they could be forgotten, since
they can never return !

“A new life is opening before me. I ask myself: Am I
equal to the duties it will bring? and I close my ears to the
reply. I am afraid to look beyond the present, and reflect
upon the great responsibility I am destined to bear. I do
not court it —it will be laid upon my weak life. I do not
love as I ought to love, to marry! I shall not deceive him,
for I have told him all, and he is content to take me with
the little affection that I can bring. But T can detect a
growing jealousy in his watchful eyes, and I fear.

“T have pleaded to be released from my hasty engage-
ment, but he smiles at my anxiety, and treats my petition
asa jest. There is a strange fascination about the man. I
pity and half love him sometimes; again, I shrink and
tremble when he is near. But, Edie, I never look and
listen for his coming, nor grieve when he is gone; and I
know it will be sinful in the sight of high heaven to give
my hand to one who cannot reach my heart and play a
sweet tune on its silvery cords. But T cannot escape. I am
but a child, led by stronger hands. I know they would not
lead me to sorrow, if they doubted the safety of the untried
way. My father and brother love my betrothed, and do not
understand me—they never did. They marvel that I
should wear a sober face in view of coming events. They say
he will be less jealous and exacting when I am all his own.
But mortal eyes cannot look down into hidden human
nature and see its constitutional defects. Kind forbearance
alone can win love after marriage — cruelty will kill!

“My dear mother does not encourage me to fulfil my
engagement with one of whose antecedents I know nothing.
If alone with her, I should now be free; but she is partially
reconciled to the decree by a promise from my betrothed,

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 113

ney ake
aah ee the parental roof. If the promise is
aa ua E ini umes happiness ; if it is violated,
an : kat ie!
ae — se ribhirige you thus, Edie ? — not to sadden
meet : ay eeareet and best girl-friends, but ‘ coming
$ cast their shadows before,’ ‘

and a reat shad ] Ss

; £ 2 WwW 1€

Over the way adow n W hic h I am going to the veiled years
’ 5 5

that ar j
are ste i
Ps e but stepping-stones to the quiet grave, and I cannot
Tes i a a ° 7 7 ° t “
wi st myself of the indefinable feeling that the life of
Bertha the Beauty’ will be a wreck!” .

Rifas ase shee entered his daughter’s apartment,
fei a 4 er was a sufficient screen for her tear-
a . anc feverish brow.
A SRAscsitap as her chamber that night with the con-
eon, ? 1e unhappiness of her two best youthful
ds, added to her own heart-disappointment.

CHAPTER XXI.
THE WILD STORM.—EDALIA IS PUZZLED

S TT TRV °
A ULTRY August sun blazed in the leaden-blue sky

as Edalia passe : hte
lightly pe a scipinlaey tg yard-gate and went
This bower SE ER : Fs i

Vine, twisting pe Hoc geas by the clinging tendrils of a wild
and the siletieag? oe , y Seki green around a sturdy old oak;
tent sheet pe I ee up modelled an Arab-like
ted vines, and at effectual ‘ re crept through the mat-
Edalia net a ually shut in from observation.
lodge, rete er revea ed the discovery of this woodland

ancied its e

xistence w y unknow
sk wholly unknown to another,

H

 

 
 

 

114 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

Deeply absorbed in a volume of peculiar interest, she sat,
unconscious of the world without, till a vivid flash of light-
ning quickly succeeded by a heavy peal of thunder startled
her, and she sprang through the vines into the arms of
Walter Eldon!

He caught her closely to his bosom an instant, then put
her coldly and sternly back, and, catching her arm, hurried
her towards her uncle’s.

“Hasten, Edalia, a storm is brewing —I hear it in the
wind!”

Though trembling with apprehension occasioned by the
heavens’ seeming, the young girl could not forbear smiling
at this appropriation amid such a scene.

Walter caught her eye, and the soul’s sunshine restored
his cold firm face to its wonted softness.

As they emerged from the woods, a brilliant flash illumi-
nated the heavens, and a heayy boom of ethereal artillery
heralded a torrent of rain.

Muffling her in a cloak which he had the precaution to
appropriate, young Eldon lifted the quivering girl in his
arms and ran into the piazza.

Mr. Redmond was there in a fluster. Servants had been
dispatched in various quarters where there was a probability
of finding the lost one, but returned dispirited.

“Where the deuce did you find ’er, Wall? Fast asleep
in Euripide’s cave? Wicked elf! See, what a plight
you ’ve got the poor boy in!”

And a sorry plight it was, truly; for, in his efforts to
shield Edalia, he had become drenched and dripping.

The girl’s face betrayed her regrets, for Walter ex-
claimed:

“Never mind it, Edalia, ‘Richard will be himself again’
when he descends, and a shower-bath in summer time isn’t
uncomfortable,” and he went up to his chamber.

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 115

TI "pe

1e . . me hd ,, ta pf
cae drifting rain drove them from the piazza, and they
OK refuce j . ‘ bie |
oe in the hall, where Walter soon joined them
rratify my curiosity i i Ww
Patines 1y ‘ urios ity In one particular, Walter.”

ies ainly, Edalia, — command me,”
« ripen did you come so opportunely to my rescue?”
Saw you wending toward
haste ;

$8 your favorite retreat. ¢

; : é und
, yon
ned thither when uncle sounded the

bd My fay rite retr oT
ose eee orite retreat! Then the knowl
48 In your possession previously ?”

alarm.”

edge of its locality

He s i
smiled, a strange sunshi i
a strange sunshiny smile Mr. R
imesh g ee e iviT, tedmo
lucht the infection, rt

<i tinie and his eye snapped and sparkled.
c ts um for hunting up wild nooks and Naiac
aces! By Jupiter! I —”

ya See eee T ‘ n ec
terrific explosion of electricity shook the dwelling to

Its conte. :
ntre y i dali
tre, and involuntarily Edalia shrank closer to Walter

Peal gs

al succeeded peal, and tl y

a , € 1e . Tere) », . a7 ry
lighid 5 peal, world seemed ablaze with

nN “fe

tse, 1 lg beyond conception, Edalia forgot all
“88 but death; and whe 2 ; : erri
nse ; and when the dull roar of the terrible

be can ste aVens.
t di An.
1e tar n the he iven , a 1d the bl nding

‘ S less frequent, she found herself in the arms of Walter
Tapeh eran upon his shoulder.
Senet a had disappeared from the hall.
She , ss essayed to escape, but he playfully
: Strugeled and uttered, impulsively: “A
Te Smiled bri
“What is A

I hiding-

her

detained her,

Agnes !”

ghtly, and his cheeks flushed.
ae so an P
paler genes to He hesitated, and grew deathly
my leased her quietly, and
“dalia retre :
Changefy]
Whe
1en Wy at aoal
Not rey they met again, he was calm, but the color had
“turned to his cheeks,

walked coolly away.
ated precipitately, to ruminate upon the
moods of the incomprehensible man

 
|
|

 

 

BERTHA, THE B EAUTY.

CHAPTER XXII.
HORACE STANHOPE. — GREEN EYES.

MYHAT fearful August storm raged around the pleasant

home of Mr. Belmont, and laid with its wild wind-
blast the majestic old sycamore-tree that shaded Bertha’s
chamber-window from the fervid heat of a sultry summer
sun prostrate to the earth.

Bertha saw it fall, and it appeared to cross her young life.

“Tt is like my hopes,” she said ; but the sound was only
heard in her heart.

For two months she had been a wife, and the great shadow
had not been lifted away from her path. It had deepened
with the days that died, and hung threateningly over the
days that were destined to be born of the shadowy night.

It was the eighteenth anniversary of her birth, and the
wild storm seemed typical of the fate of a life that had been
thrust upon the world eighteen years ago. She had know?
no childhood, and old age seemed withering her hungry
soul even in early youth. There was an aching void in
her heart that Horace Stanhope could not fill, and the
effort to conceal his insufficiency to satisfy her spirit
craving rendered her less peaceful than in the days of
girlish freedom.

Bertha knew her husband loved her—it was a self:
evident fact; no one had ever for a moment distrusted his
affection for the beautiful, timid girl he had won from $°
many admirers; and it was the full consciousness of his
entire devotion that had rendered our heroine more yield
ing to her lover’s wooing and her father’s will.

Once she had pleaded to be released, and insisted up?

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY, 117
disso] y i i
Ing ITY nyo > 7
g their engagement froma sense of justice to hi
justice to him

and ho
hor sal f:
Beans to herself; but Horace Stanhope’s expressi F
ade : 8810
10pe-abandonment melted her sym ono

dod sepa pathetic soul to pity

Fr:

om that hou a

: é r, Bertha ceased
fate, and a

driftin

struggle against |]

, as she had writt ‘dali went ‘aged
en 7 « « > }

2 to Edalia, she went ‘ drif

Pin 8 — on a deep and shoreless sea.’
ried to close her ears to the

ting —
She shut her eyes
d os |

aa scenes and so 3 ths
uted her in a new state sl pie ys

blindly ;
* 7 tacitly after her paternal guide
“tr. Belmont did not s
ute R ’ suspect the burning seer
bore igi I the burning secret th
Short of , si il
of thou 3 boundary that shut her out from full oa
oO € i
oe ut and action, Bertha was the idol of his heart
rhe Ae » > } ife : ‘ oh
etd : and pet of his life—and he honestly thoucht to
> her future felicity by uniting her to one so ke i

hez j

art-oj r Q

given to her as race S

“little As Horace , tanhope.

lovey.

1€ Was soon to enter, and went

i at lay
© rhtar’a 7 ’
aughter’s bosom, or he would have

ly
foolish fears’ and ‘si Rohe Ho laughed. Oh
ey ars” and ‘silly objections’ to her devoted

is ‘large hands’ and ‘ Y idi pate
weg: s “large hands’ and ‘ Yankee idioms’ were by no

8 deroos mtg P y 1

as rogatory to a worthy character. Horace loved he
ie as he did himself, aah

‘ would die
of eve
of

: His little jealousies that annoyed
tists ne matrimony removed all doubt and fear
nu; y obtaining her. Jealousy was a certai ‘oof
HONE j ain proof
Honest

ge

a id ] nor le S re ‘
d =] Y ~
: ‘ I 1 1 1 lf, Mr. I l nont s urched

St a shining surface for secret sins; and Hora
' By. yrace
a sts “ = eee ¢ “pf
4g 1 stains upon his inner life that only keen and
Ne; 1 eyes could discover
‘ath the
™m

ar

ben Bertha detected them be-
ll) wap ant > ;

“ib Sog a n mask of conyentionalism, even before

: “ge; and they grew gradu: i ;

fathey Webi they grew gradually perceptible to her

Politic» matrimony rendered circumspection no longer

Mr = necessary to the end in view x

: - Belmont op i ;

: ened his remorseful eyes

life-long. I is remorseful eyes too late to the

rror he ¢ 3 i in i i
e had committed in influencing his dauchter

= <n RR SEES

nemesis aime ne teens

 

 
 

 

118 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

against her better judgment and heart - acquiescence, in &
such vital importance as the bridal vow.
lapsed after Bertha’s union, before he

and horror, “Oh,

matter of
Not one month e
was forced to exclaim, in sudden surprise
falsehood hath!”
hout, and Bertha knelt at her
livid lightning leap from
ains along the wrathful

what a goodly outside
The wild storm raged wit
chamber-window and w atched the

cloud to cloud, weaving burning ch
sky. Once she was fearful of the thunder-burst and leaping

fire from the wrathful clouds, she would hide in her father’s
bosom, or under the quilt in

her darkened chamber; now
she was strong and daring, though the quick fl

ash momently
burned and blinded her vision.

“Tt was grand! It was sublime!” she said, as the

thunder-crash came down and the liquid fire flamed.
thought his young wife reckless, as he

Horace Stanhope
sat and watched her, shrinking himself from the live

thunder and lurid light.
“Come from that window, Bertha!’

“ What for, Mr. Stanhope? I want to see.

> he commanded.
(Oh, what @

beautiful chain !”)
“Come here, Bertha!”
like muttering thunder rolling up from afar.
“ Please let me stay a little bit. (Oh, what a magnificent
blaze !”’)
“You promised to obey me, Bertha, — come sg
ntly, with an expression akin to marty?

His tone had a touch of threat

Bertha went, sile
dom on her sober face.
“You are a strange

girl, Bertha, to admire such wild

I thought you possessed a softer and more feminin®

scenes.
soul.”
“ God made me
for my nature, Mr. Stanhope.”
“JT wish you would call me Horace, Mrs. Stanhop®

and the storm too. I am not responsible

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 119

Yo ‘
ur ‘Mr,’ is lik
- is like December i
: er May, avi
bhehiss = in May. I have told you so

“ I h .
tave tried, but I can’t ge i
elvnatagee “ I can’t get used to it. I forget. Please
: 2. don’t mes ispleas isobe ‘Tt
ine eake ace mean to displease or disobey you. It
teas Southern style of speaking of or to our liege lord
“y S not seem respectful.” me
ou mus ey :
ue are e your ‘Southern style,’ now ; you are
ankee’s wife, and must |
g Ss eé r 1é vs 4
heey : ist learn to be a Yankee.”
6 Ye
28,
Styles,’
tions,”
Bertha’s
lynx-e

a
. ant must forget your past life and ‘Southern
© 1 yr, . y, ;

g ive for your husband and his Northern no

small mouth wor
e a strange expressi
ye could have detec tec ae ge
veciuteea g detected a hint of scorn in the firm
SS 2 € . 4 :
his ro on. He had drawn her down upon his knee, and
£ rus Tae gepaere i.
fibile - “ eyes searched her countenance. Horace Stan
rea ook the ‘hint,’ and it burned him =
lat is more i
‘ ; e than I barg: or,” i
Bain Hock irgained for,” she. said, dryly.
alt: y to perform all that I promise ida
is hot ts ne promised at the bridal
will i bo orget the past and transform our nature at
ag hot in our power.”
70 re 2, you w ind i
= na u loved me, you would find it easy to conform to
‘ifece r - It would not have been necessary to call you
“T pe before you obeyed.” His eyes flashed ;
id n’t meat i bapik'rdh ak aele
: an to be disobedient ; it was
ca tee obedient ; it was such a small
You knew | ight you would be willing to gratify me, if
Ww how joy i
“Wells w I enjoyed the scene. I did n’t suppose —”
B ; 1? — spit it out.” rf
ertha crime cats a ae
aries,» Arann with indignation at the Northern vul-
Bai = < made an impulsive movement to leave his knee
sabes é 8 e.
eld her fast, with a clouded brow.

“«
4et ne. :
“Th ne hear what you ‘did n’t suppose.’ ”

Sake :

th

at you w i ‘
: 8d 1 would deprive me of a pleasure simply for the
Xercising your ¢ rity i 1
1g your authority and being obeyed.”

 
20 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“ And now, why did you wish to leave my arms just now?”

“Tam not accustomed to unrefined language, and your
style of expression startles me sometimes. I am a creature
of impulse, and often act badly without any wrong motive.
Don’t let me hurt you by sudden starts. I shall get used to
you after a while.” The veriest ghost of a smile hovered
about her lips, and in her clear hazel eyes.

“J’m afraid you are entirely too refined for me, Mrs.
Stanhope!” There was sarcasm in his tone, and anger in
his eyes.

Bertha made no reply, but she wondered why he had not
made that discovery before it was too late to repair the
error.

“Do you think you will ever love me, Bertha?” were his
next words, in a softened tone.

She was truthful, and never attempted to deceive. Hy-
pocrisy was foreign to her nature. She said, frankly :

“T shall, if you are kind and forbearing. I love you now,
sometimes.”

“Yes, you love me when [I let you have your own way
and lead me by the nose. I would n’t give a d—n for such
love as that!” He pushed her from his knee, and sprang
up, wrathfully.

Our heroine had never before been so taken by surprise.
It was the first time she had ever heard him utter a profane
word, Before her marriage, one of Horace Stanhope’s
rivals had informed her of his proficiency in the art of in-
terlarding his language with expletives forbidden by the
Decalogue, and she carried the information to her father,
which was at once set down by prejudice-blinded Mr. Bel-
mont to jealousy in a rival —a base calumny.

Mr. Belmont viewed Horace Stanhope through a rose
colored lens, until matrimony broke the glass, and he saw
clearly. If the father’s happiness alone had been involved,

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 121

few w

we 7 iti i

i: sigs have pitied him. It was the first time

Sle 10pe’s nage] F

Pitan pe'’s passionate soul had made such an undi
s aw < ; :

Piay, and Bertha stood in mute

Cespair ¢

Pair a moment; then she

dy t 77 7

y the window, and looke

Horace
sguised
astonishment and half
went quietly to her old place
Byaahich qs welklug tha ue wh cottan wen e
watshint Perri etter vi A Tepe ess strides, and
ae “a rate “ ly 1e sprang to the window, and
ioe gee ts away. His face was colorless with pas-
ssea ¢

Fo Ea otis

re inSesomep ag adeniretion for wild storms and love

acca ise ou watch and wait for your lovers and
ig v smiles, when you have none for your husband!”

ou hurt me, Mr. Stanhope,” was all she said. ne

I : ;
‘% threw her arm from him so
and fel] .; ;
aie fell against the wall. He re
anc ) ] y;
: a her standing before him.
ertha, if you love th: g i
oe , if y ove that man, why did you marry me?”
1at man, Mr. Stanhope ?”

en
That fellow to who
When to me

W

violently, that she reeled
ached after her quickly,

m you just gave your sweetest smile,
lps you rarely give a beam of light. I saw it all
4 9 you not marry him, and spare me?”
don’ > hi |
on’t love him, Mr. Stanhope — I never did. I mar-

d you, because
Vow,

rie
I told you would not release me from my hasty
fe) P . hs ,
for dupli vf ‘ge then. You cannot now reproach me
. lelty, cannot smile ey ’
frown ais . ot smile, Mr. Stanhope, when you
May » “nd torment me with ungentle words. Kindness

ot Win love, but cruelty will kill.” a

She hs .
iv 1¢ bared her slender arm
lolence,

Swollen lin

, and exposed the marks of his

po ap ai Be :
lis finger prints were plainly seen in red and
es, purpling where his ruthless grasp had been

t 7
Was too much

<a for the soul-sick girl. She dropped upon

air, and burst i —

} urst into tears — the firs

; he first tears he h:
ae es first tears he had ever

11

 

 

 
 

122 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

Horace Stanhope was on his knees at her feet, in an
instant.

“Forgive me, Bertha; I did not mean to hurt you. You
know I love you more than life, and it drives me wild to
feel you have no love for me.”

He laid his face upon her arm, and kissed the purplish
prints.

“T told you so,” she sobbed,—“ but you would not release
me, and spare us both. I said we should be unhappy to-
gether, but you would not listen to my warning; and now
it is too late!”

“Dear, it is not too late for happiness. Forgive, and
forget the past, and I will be more careful in the future.
I would harm myself sooner than you; but I cannot bear to
see you smile upon others, and look coldly on me, Bertha.”

“You should not indulge’ such jealous thoughts, Mr.
Stanhope. Love cannot be forced — it is not the growth of
years, nor gift of will. It is my nature to be led, and not
driven. I love you when you are kind and gentle, but I
cannot smile and affect fondness, when your reproaches and
unjust suspicions repel me. If you will let me live in peace,
and not watch and question me continually, your hopes of
being loved as you say you love me, will sooner be realized.”

“TJ will try, Bertha, if you will not speak to him again.”

“To whom, Mr. Stanhope?”

“That fellow, Harry Herbert. He’s a scoundrel, to be
hanging round a married woman, and seeking every oppor-
tunity to annoy me by his villanous smiles and attentions.”

“Mr. Stanhope! I have not exchanged a dozen words
with him since our marriage ; and his attentions have been
too slight for remembrance. He has the reputation of
being an honorable man, and is a prominent member of
the church.”

“Such fellows are the most dangerous! If a reward

8e.

oe No more be

OF gppj i
Pring time ge

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 123

were a may
; ¢ offered for the grandest rasca] in existence I’d go
“ 7 XI1SU

the church-fold to find him ! ' (

-: :
cake Will you promise me,

“c b
It will reflect
people will suspec
to me,”

dishonor upon you, Mr. Stanhope, —
?
t the cause; and your reputation is dear

“
Let them suspect.
loved you before
llow annoys me

by his eff Ss Fa le n ry an | saintly sm ] 28. W yo
J or at ¢ ant

] . I 3

is b ; 5 11es, ill U

77 I . ‘pe . . . -
W ill 1b W 1 sar J “ SY, @
’ ais BY
o Be if t ill rm. your e alow ’ and leave me in

I will take the responsibility. He

your marriage, and the fe

NS. 4
rE nd so the days went on; more quiet, but not more hope-
» to Bertha. Horace Stanhope had falle

tic am . .
sn since their marriage
he; "a
é

”_ n in her estima-
and the great void i ar yo

irt was fast filling up with Tiel tatige a Te
Having married him through the influence of her
and brother, and trusting to his own affec
reciprocate it, there w
restrain the ¢
Posur

father
tion to learn to
as no love to hide his defects, and
‘he contempt irresistibly inspired by a constant ex-
€ of his mental deformity.
Tt was a bitter p

ain for one o y a is
al ne f her earning an 1 (
5 anc poetic

ke nt to feel the up-gushings of ge
10m she was securely b =:
or for woe!

orn for him to
ound by a life-long vow — for weal

< Bertha looked off into the veil
SPlrit-eyes,

When wii it end?”
Dise
lon

ed future, with sunless
and the great cry of her stru

ggling soul was:
: ase fastened upon her frail form, and thr
wes > ]
“A ent months of autumn and winter shut he
Ye ter eae ws i
fc: miring and sympathizing world.
ter the ild / :
at wild August storm, “ Berth:
ugust storm, ‘“ Bertha the Beauty ” was

yond her clouded home, until the first bird
n ; q OF r it ‘ } ]

t up its silvery song in the budding wood-

ough the
rin from

 
 

 

124 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

ya)

lands; and she was providentially spared the pain of meet-
ing a kind Christian friend with unjustifiable and inexpli-
cable coldness.

And “Bertha the Beauty is dying!” was heard, day
after day, in the great world where she had so lately reigned
in maiden loveliness — the admired of all admirers.

 

CHAPTER XXIII.
A TEMPERANCE LECTURE. — JONES'S STORE.

HE whistling winds of a cold December day made frost-
work upon the window-panes, as Edalia came in from
a visit to Minnie.

Mr. Redmond was away in the town of Tarboro’, on
business pertaining to his profession; and Walter, she
imagined, was mentally merged in a ponderous pile of
formidable folios in the office.

Though gentle in his demeanor and ever considerate, he
had grown apparently colder and more constrained since
the circumstance occasioned by that wild August storm ;
and nature had constituted Edalia for a consummate illus-
tration of the principle permeating Cowper’s couplet :

‘‘The man I trust, if shy to me,
Will find me as reserved as he.”

She was surprised, on entering the parlor, to find him ex-
tended upon a sofa, apparently in profound enjoyment of
“tired nature’s sweet restorer.”

Edalia drew back instinctively, meditating a retreat ; but
the crimson hue of his cheeks wrought a revulsion of feel-

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY, 125

ing. She went surreptitious
aR , Surreptitiously up and knelt beside him,
anc Q ap he eafttl yw ; 7 ]
0 zi her hand softly upon his forehead; it was burning
ot, and the swolle i 1 d
, swollen blue veins upon his t
ot, a2 2ing s temples throbbe
ae sath I ples throbbed
Alara ies
ste armed at the symptoms, she uttered a correspondent
2 ERAN He opened his eyes and smiled.
“dalia aros ickly, : remark i
ace _— peter remarked, quietly :
‘equire medical aid, Walter; I sl
e , Ws shall sumr r
Montrose,” rr
oN ee
- 0; 1t 1s unnecessary. Come and sit here, Edalia. It
8s ¢ anal 1 ;
a a transient ailment. Come here, Edie.”
. € had not, since boyhood, addressed her by that pet
ame She r § : i i
2 e. She drew an ottoman beside him, and granted his
reques >» 1a} . i
: = st. He laid her hand upon his flushed forehead, and
0OKe ho tlw 3 j itis
: ed ear nestly into her eyes, murmuring :
‘ . » :
Oh, fate, fate!”

A pallor overspread his face. He lay thoughtfully a

mMome

“

nt, then continued, with an effort :

“dalia, will you marry Colonel Henley?”

“ Never!

1
ie Colonel Henley possesses no interest in my
art paramount to friendship. I have declined the honor
Fe a to confer.”
Te smiled agai
smiled again, and the rose returned to his cheeks

“ I re

. joice at this disclosure; for ri
tlre closure ; for, though obviously a de-

Henle

he

he

Conquest as regards wealth and station, yet Colonel
Set “Speen eh se brink of a precipice, and I would
destiny ming ron d not have you, Edalia, unite your
Bet Hie mt Q 4: mn we have so frail security against
iat precipitation, May heaven avert from you, Edie,

amity that has befallen Minnie Chester —an inebri-

ate’s wife 1”

it3 P
Oor Minnie! Is
a's Minnie! Is there no hope of Charles, Walter?
1€ not be reclaimed ?”

“< Wi
itho restraint i ing hi
ty ut some restraint involving his honor, there is no

 
 

126 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

a

hope, Edalia; but we should never despair in an effort for
the accomplishment of a worthy object. I can harbor no
hope of his reformation until he pledges himself to total
abstinence from all intoxicating beverages. Men will bru-
talize their nature in an hour of unbridled passion who
would hold inviolate a promise reflecting upon their honor ;
and Charles, though led captive by sensuality, degenerate,
and sadly fallen, has this redeeming trait.”

“ He must — he will be saved; perchance to-night.”

« Alas, no! he will not attend. Do you go, Edalia?”

“J shall, if —”

“Tf what, Edie?”

He drew her gently toward him, and pulled her curls
playfully over his eyes and lips.

“T shall, if uncle returns, and —”

He interrupted her.

“Tf uncle returns? Won’t you let me be your escort,
Edalia?”

“ With pleasure, if you desire it ; — but Agnes —?”

The color deepened on his brow as he replied :

“Ever mindful of Agnes! Do you love her so truly?”

“TJ love her very dearly.”

“ Would you have me marry Agnes, Edalia?”

“If it is your wish. I desire your happiness, Walter.”

He started up. The rich blood rushed to his face, and
his eyes flashed. He stooped, wound his arms around her

waist, and lifted her to the sofa beside him.
“My happiness! It is in —do you think I could —”

He ceased, rose hastily up, ejaculating vehemently:

“ Great God! —I dare not!”

He was deathly white.
Mr. Redmond’s cheerful voice echoed up from the yard

in answer to the familiar greeting of petted little Dick, and
Edalia slipped silently away. ‘

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 127

“

It Ww
as a cold lear ni i i ig
etic a clear night, lit with m yriad st
Cres ent moon streg

of silver radiance.
‘ — walked to the old se
vedmor ‘

id chaperoned Agnes.

to its utmost cap
Maidens

huddle
Scene,

. ars, and the
tking the dark violet sky with a pathway

hool-house with Walter, Mr

‘ t
“seat The large room was crowded
‘acity with the gay villagers—old men and
» young men and mothers —;

in heterogeneous
rane dame th pe F geneous mass
gether, with curious hearts to witness the novel

Temperance Lecture was a nov

Country
y place, and e¢ i
3 *e, and eagerly the excited inhabj
Sra sages al ‘s y xcited inhabitants gathered
The 4 é JOY @ scene so rare,
es ts ay «< >, iy }
chee were ranged around the wide walls, and little
thai neat and rosy, ragged and pale — nes
1€ niched and ink-stained 1i \ ois Siecle
' -stained lids, peeri ri P
2 2: aca atpepegnag » peering with great wonder-
€ heads of the adult audience, toward the
ti]

el affair in this quiet

Speaker
Peaker’s stand.

He rose —a ts i i
tall, thin man, with clear gray eyes and sil

very |} . * . . :
lair His V eC W V ) v af eS Ortrayec

. o1ce as lo und
_ ie a plainti e as he p traye 1

of woman arisi : i

a é sing frox $s curs :
the soilless g n this curse of man:
and fami
With we
SCourge

os
denge

L waht td . rit: . n
= teworn wife; the cheerless hearth; the pale
Ss. a y a 7 . ’
he offspring ; the dark and dreary future, dim
e y i |
ping over loved ones imbruted by this de
—and a stifled sob arose from we
_ and hushed assembly.

*radually his voi

us voice expanded ; his er:

BN eranairmanee panded ; his gray eye flashed; the
PN by ’pt to his pale brow; and “ Death to the Tyrant!”
ne eeted with a burst of applause Pee

© sa mn, § le
‘he t down, and “ Henley! Henley!” floated throucl
E : ity as the tumult subsided ae
Gallia g i
te 1a started with surprise and indign
‘1 answer to the "
Principle
he sa

solating
ary ones in that

een “ ation to behold
rea all, and ascend the stand t ‘

S of the aged speaker, Pen
id, mentally :

 
 

 

128 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“Man! God-like man! created in the image of his
Maker, prostituting the glorious gifts of Divinity to the
perversion of truth, in the sustenance of an evil that has
deluged the world with woe, and drifted innocent and help-
less hearts out upon the wide ocean of despair, and ingulfed
them in the whirling maelstrom of death!”

It was a bold and brilliant advocacy of the cause he
espoused, but “ Mene, mene, tekel upharsin” was written,
with the glitter of his own eloquent sophistry, upon the
already tarnished fame of Tom Henley. It was meet that
a libertine should advocate the cause of the “enemy that
steals away the brain.”

Beside Edalia sat a pale, feeble woman, gazing implor-
ingly, with tearful eyes, at the handsome face of the gifted
speaker.

Walter turned his large blue orbs upon her, and they
emitted the brilliancy of diamonds. His face crimsoned,
and he grew restless. As Henley closed his defence he
sprang up, unbidden, and advanced toward the stand.

“ Bldon! Eldon!” echoed around, and the old room rang
again,

It was his first effort at public debate, and Edalia trem-
bled with excitement. Mr. Redmond glanced toward her,
as the young man sprang, with graceful elasticity, upon the
platform, and his eyes snapped and glittered with proud
animation.

An appearance of shrinking and timidity overspread his
features as his eyes wandered over that silent assembly, and
he realized his position; but turning boldly and scornfully
toward the last speaker, and pointing his finger at the won-
dering Henley, he exclaimed, in a full and distinct tone:

“ Woe unto you! —you entered not in yourself, and those
that were entering in you hindered !”

He grew assured and fearless; his face became radiant

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 129

wit ' : ;
h the sunshine of a noble and

Voice ros ? i

. Tose and fell with the plaints
1¢ ack a 2 ;

2 his fine form swayed and e
Ow of ;
iS of eloquence, and the

enle med pz i
ley turned pale beneath his stinging sare
Brak stinging sarcasm and
§ wit, and the old lecturer smiled

; “God bless him!”

Sh age . breathed the feeble woman beside
» 48 tears and smiles strugeled for
her fad eH 55 or

W: ed, sunken eyes.

: voes descended from the stand

4S a Wdols ;

ide Edalia, amid a storm of

audience,

sympathizing soul. His
and ecstasies of feeling,
xpanded with the ebb and
flashes of wit and enthusiasm.

predominance in

, and resumed his seat
applause from the admiring
Y
Calmly and inc
eyes,
1t with

0 juiringly he looked into the young girl’s
% " . N . * . ” ri
She laid her hand impulsively in his. He cl
ze his own peculiar clasp — gentle and
48 adamant,

r

The Pieper

LEDGE was brought forward and handed through
5S

the asse yr né
assembly, and 1
ame @ y
fi =] after hame ran down the Jie

asped
soft, but firm

Edali
he alia watche
€side her
Man in g
him

d with intense interest the pale sufferer
“ Her dilated eyes were fixed upon a haggard
st ¢ arte as iC "
distant quarter, as the official member approached
Rh and presented the PLepar.
and gmj

= Smiled, grasped the white she
iXed his signature.
ands nery
4gitated he

He glanced toward her
et resolutely, and hastily
She clasped her small, toil-hardened
ously, dropped her face upon them, and a tre
r bowed form. rash

“om
ha k G i
An od, there 1s one more

trophy!” exclai

<n phy!” exclaimed

- ter Eldon, with a sigh of relief.
loud acclam

tio ve ¢ otous
ée ra 1
zi ation went up from th > ragged Ana riotous

chests ‘ assembled rustics as they issued from the old
z ~fouse into the keen wintry air:
Turraw for Colone

» ay! —,
His a 1 Henley! — hurraw for handsome

 
130 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

Edalia shuddered, and clung closer to her companion,
mentally contrasting his proud manly worth with the mis-
erable debauched crew.

Wending homeward, a mercantile establishment after the
country order threw its streams of candle-light across their
way.

This establishment was at once the repository of dry-
goods, hardware, groceries, confections, and malt liquors,
indiscriminately blended, and was known to all the country
round as “ Jones’s Store.”

Old Jones had gone the way of all the earth long years
ago, with the assistance of his own excellent brandies and
a drunken M.D., but his name lived on in the famous insti-
tution he had founded; and hunters and trappers of wild
beasts found Jones’s Store a wonderful convenience for dis-
posing of the animals’ skins, and refreshing their inner man
with the liquid proceeds.

Bertha’s brother — little Claude Belmont—had, in early
childhood, been cheated into senseless intoxication by the
founder of this establishment for his own amusement ; and
mother and sister never forgave the soulless deceiver.

Old Jones slept soundly now in his cold bed, and his
“Store” was destined to lay many more as low as him-
self,

Edalia caught the name of her companion through the
unclosed door, and laughingly arrested his progress, survey-
ing the group within through a broken window-pane.

“Tsay, Gov’ner, did you hear young Eldon’s maiden
speech ?”

“Noe:

“Then, by jux, you missed a figure there, old boy! Haw,
h-a-w! —the way he did put Hen’s chunk out was a sin t0
Davy Crockett!”

“Good! Well, I’ll swing by the seven stars if I did n't

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 131

alway, r
YS say he’d make

uchiune a famous lawyer! How did Tom

see
ake it! ; As
Boni; <e it! Je-rusalem! (Give us a horn o’ brand
ace: J? ae z sits vrandy
stugr st —— deuced dry. None o’ your wish-a-washy
— bra : ‘ ei
Fete é se n sugar — but a good mug 0’ the ginequine
tL my whistle witl 7 ‘ 5 7
laps ’ stle with.) Take it! Ore-ation! E
apsed quicker ! -ation! He col-
er! — knocked ris
Saincaui ' ocked right under, and looked savage
M at-axe in the holidays!”
Mr. Peter a A 53
i: Peterroy Simpkins here stalke
Xtr i
hol a of the store, and hooking
4€8 of his flaming s

dup from the farther
both thumbs in the arm-
“eile ne eyee s — vest, put his shining boots as far
Fi allowed, and throwing his small, round

ad back i i
ck until the cigar j hi
ar in the corner of his
: g er of his ] r
tood up like a stove eipeory

“a . -pipe, he responded :

ins leas aS ra aie

a, pardon for dissenting from your sapient jud

ine one u J Sapient Judgment,

i. = ; Dut, in my most humble opinion, Colonel Hen-
address was immeasur

ieee ably exalted to an eminence
diego “ir. Huldon's capabilities to attain. Mr. Eldon’s
s 0) ne ye 1 . ; :
ibid oratory, sir, are emphatically and incontestably
dens = sir, in the literal acceptation of the
Sica. ; oetrays a lamentable deficiency in genius and
ns ‘ . . ‘i -
Brg sible neglect and inconsiderateness with reference
> Segregation of labials, which, by é i
nr oe 5 » by an oral combina-
bis duce euphony upon the ty
and et While Colonel Henley’s
Teplete with all the transe

its G
© to the devil with
Say

ky Owl

far

mpanum of the sen-

, ‘

nley’s oration was ornate
a ?

endent expletives of —”

eye your dictionary, you barrel 0’ soap !

ms . a trump, and no mistake, — bumped Hen’s

dgve-bc 7} ¢ 7] R

: - ox with a witness, and no dodgin’! Say, Major

‘ * . . j :

hee 1€ price o’ this calico?”

Welve ’n half cent.”

« T
Welve king

doms! W- y
Plaxpak gdoms! W-h-e-w! §
Ow

«< Cc

an’ * -
“Nt do it; cost me ‘leven ’n New York.”

ay ten, and it’s a
el M4 i es
n, and no grabbin’.” ‘

 
 

132 RERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

BE sae
ERTHA, THE BEAUTY, 133

and her me i

ntal acquire

ly ¢ ements ¢ -onsti

ns ee ee s and constitu-
* & centrifugal —”

“ Crackee!—that’s a whopper! But I’m bound to try
it on, or the old woman ll buzz about my ears like green
flies round ’lasses-flitters! Cut me off eight yards, old
Skinflint, and charge it to the town-pump. I say, fellers, “T say, old pa ,
I'll bet a gallon of old Griper’s best, Wall and that little e’s ewallowed apalieh, give this man
black-eyed Ed ’Il make a match of it.” Well, he te alker
Edalia started convulsively, and struggled to retreat ; 1t! indiginee cc %
but, throwing an arm around her waist, he held her firmly plan; for wae
but gently. Wall’
“ Please let us go,” she pleaded, with crimson face. Say
«Wait a moment,” he said, softly ; but she did not see
the lips that uttered it, and the eyes that searched for hers.
“T have the honor to inform you, Mr. Tomlin,” said
Peter, “that Mr. Eldon is affianced to Miss Bentley ; and
I have it from an authentic source, that their nuptials will
be consummated as early as compatible with his financial

Controvertibly ;
tional te vei

y qualified to assert, operate

~, , M
peas : a dose o peppermint.
: w run aginst a snag! Jim-i-ny!
00. re: od
1undred, he and Ed would a fixed

h it } 5
we
ould make » On the ec ual diy islon

thank is
: = ' ks to his old rum-guzzling father (like
poor as market-milk, and she’s rick sal
oo » Old Mone rveesen
30ln’ t

0 have one

oS ne more blow-out wi rs

* Bibdenti it with brandy, and ther

me! )

* as cream-crust !

me - am-crust !

ytight, give us another bung-starter : By
g-starter. m

2 sign

A roa :
r ‘ ‘
is ws of laughter followed this announe
Natu eit you, fellers, I’ve got w ,
“cure mea ‘
; it me for s i
a something more’
th a brick in m ied ead :
Mum ’

ement.
aked up to-night; I b’lieve

ahies

akin’ worm-fences

y hat; and if it h:; ; gets
iad n’t been for — but

boys; ¢ ,
8; @man’s bound to sti
mene EAL o stick up for his

affairs.”

“ Creation !— you don’t say ? Well, I live too fur in the
woods to be posted in such things; but I’d a-swore he loved
her; and you may take my hat if the gipsy don’t love him

: 8 the word,
Country
Miny 1»

A footste
and h

Goin t y bs ‘ 6
O mar ynes sh
( ArT Ag 1e 3, © Je

 

: P was heard advanci
I’ve been an amorous swan ard advancing ;

—no two ways "bout that.
once upon a time, and it did me good to see the round tears
shine in her black eyes to-night, while Wall was put’n hell
to the Colonel. Ill take that bet back, Pete; ran’t afford
to waste a gallon on a lost game. She’s an all-fired pretty
girl — prettiest one in these parts, now that ‘ Bertha the
Beauty is gone — no two ways about that!”

A slight tremor was perceptible in the manly arm that
gradually tightened around Edalia during this speech, re
sisting her efforts to escape.

“J jmportunately implore your most gracious and mag
nanimous lenity for a duplicate dissent from your mature
judgment, Mr. Tomlin; but in my opinion, Miss Redmond’s
personal attractions are by no means above mediocrity, in

r

oe eee they left their position
: , proceeding in unbroken silence until
's ‘i eI . .
aie 1and fell, jocularly, upon Walte
re ae é | < hi

d and spoke, but his voice was

Pah astened homew
Tr, Re
vedmond’

He st

;
r’s shoulder,

Sep
Pulchra] ! es ics

 

CHAPTER XXIV.
LITTLE CHARLIE. —“NO HOPE.”

IE
old clock i
ck i
ot k in the corner chimed one. Agnes ro
k fi over the slumberer. The long br
ck fringe upon her Pe

m snow-white cheeks. She was

 
 

134 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

lovely, but sadly changed from the bright, brilliant Minnie

Montrose of other days.
A tiny wail came from the downy cushions of a eradle-

bed and touched the sensitive ear of the young mother. She
opened her languid eyes and whispered :

“ Charlie.”

Agnes lifted the wee thing in her white arms, and laid it
sobbing upon the bosom of its girl-mother. She pressed its
round chubby cheek to her thin face, and raising her dim

blue eyes to Edalia’s, murmured :

“Has he come?”
“Not yet. Try to sleep, Minnie dear; it is not so late.”

She turned away with a suppressed and shuddering sigh,
whispering :

“Lost! lost!”
Two! rang out upon the death-like stillness of night —

ebbing away —away in the dim distance — it died.

Footsteps echoed in the hall, heedless and dull. The
chamber-door was thrown rudely open, and Charles Chester,
bloody and blustering, reeled into the room.

“Sh, Charles,’ —and Edalia pointed to the sleeper.

He drew his hand abstractedly across his brow, crept
cautiously to the bedside, and gazed remorsefully upon the
wan face of the young sufferer. The scene half sobered him,
and recalled his scattered senses. He laid his face upon the

pillow, and groaned :

“Wretch!”

“ Charles, there is blood upon your face! It would kill
her to see you thus!”

Dr. Montrose led him unresistingly from the chamber.

Agnes sank back amid the velvet cushions of the old arm
chair and sobbed, as the young husband and father passed

with unsteady step through the closing door.
Sdalia sat at her fect,and leaned her head upon the chalt

arn.

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY, 135

“ Ol} “ye
1, Edie! wha scene! §
There pray t a scene! So noble, and yet so lost !
’ 18 nO hope now, Edie! The las tar.’ i
Gucshe fo ame e : 0 The last pale star is extin-
} sd! as descended to a depth wher ion i
oe Q -h where reputé :
lost in indifference | ” ; RA
Edali
“dalia made no rep
reply, but “no di p
eFPaoepe eel # a ut “no hope” lingered upon her
> star r _ war a
The nae : ue through every lane of memory.
sitness of two short weeks was ov ;
slimy ase : rt weeks was overcast, and the
ght gathered behind the gloom, only gush
transparencies in tl ] bla k uh eee ee
: 1e dense black cloud be I
Piso é ud, to trace in letters
aot light — “no hope! ”
Sittine " q
Ot : there at the feet of the betrothed bride of him
As € ear
eg 1e had feared and shunned as fated to stand in the
Same x ; , 7 ‘
ast relation to her, without power, on her part, to escape
=r destiny Ndalic , ca :
ah estiny, Edalia wondered and choked at the conviction
Ne pink nha
tales © great change that had come over her since that feel
o AP-Atote ‘ ws
as far-distant time — seventeen months ago
Sitting there, i sile the he
Ritalbe ‘2 , in the silent chamber of the broken-hearted
ean 4 1im she had once so loved, she thanked heaven from
e Ts ~ ; :
‘ch neart, that no irrevocable bond bound her to one so
“iien and irreclaimable,.
Sittin, i i
alae 1g there, in the still small hours of the ghostly and
stley i 3 4 a
a Ing night, she went back through the years that were
sone, g 7 are. , : ;
he » and wondered why God had chosen them — the once
appy ¢ re-link i %
alia y and love-linked trio —to suffer, most of all the young
Wrest tkelabes
na nerry crowd that had grown up to blooming woman-
( ‘. om ; a . > és
- together. Bertha was fading fast away —a frail ship
at sea sse 27 i ' : ‘ali
ids " tee by the rude winds and rough waves ;—a little
ser buffeting of the swelli i
oa . = i waters and strengthening
A: he helmless bark would ox y
jas f ro down bene )
dark billows ! x eae
Minni i
inie was dy defi t i
Wits gh as dying of hope deferred! The little spring
ban 7 Jewelled the rose-tree in the garden of her youthful
> hac 2 i ;
daa > been blighted by early frost, ere their oreen cups
1e oe or ‘ ce |
d the fragrant unfolded blossoms, The last one that

 
136 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

promised fair to open in the trembling sunshine of a new
morning, had fallen now in the wintry chill of a starless
night! Soon that weak heart must be crushed into silence
beneath the weight of its withered hopes, and she would be
alone. Alone! — nothing to reach after and live for!
Nothing to lead her on, day after day, shining up in the
future, with promise of overtaking it after a while. Life was
a blank sheet, with no “Watch, Wait, and Hope” written
by fortune’s finger for her!

Edalia held her breath to suppress a sob; Minnie slept
on in blissful unconsciousness of her husband’s fall into
deeper degradation; Agnes sat very still, with closed eyes,
and small waxen hands clasping a visible prayer; and the
soft September winds made sad melody around the eaves,
blending their grieving moans with her mental grief.

 

CHAPTER XXV.

HORACE STANHOPE’S REPUTATION AMONG HIS
RELATIVES.

T is a low dilapidated frame house, in Berkshire County,
Massachusetts. Silas Stanhope, the brother of Horace,
is the proprietor. Silas is a good, honest, hard-working,
humble-minded man. He wears a shocking bad hat, patched
trousers, brown shirt, and no shoes. He is as low in stature
as he is in mind, and as easy in disposition as Mr. Belmont
himself.
Silas has a small “ farm” of rocks and grass, Indian corn
of very short stalks, Irish potatoes, and thickly-set onions.
The “farm” is cut up into small squares, triangles, quad-
rangles, ad infinitum, by low fences, to separate the onions

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY, 137

fron
a : ¢ hcl
the smal] corn, and the small] corn from the b

and tal] grass.

Beyond the low dil
Pushe

we

ig rocks

apidated frame house, the « farm” ig
¢ u Me 2 et . . . f :
a P by nature into high lands, groaning beneath the
ght of granite piles o:

fs seed gathered from the cultivated parts
sf nense labor, and heaped for future
Stone walls; a

till then, a snug refuge f
bes , 4 Shug refuge for snakes ; 2 i
chime g $s and cunning

The high lands }

use in running

winter gee ane deggie me frame house are sacred to
a gee o ites 4 d om W alnut-trees, inaccessible until
raked pete Ai pe areal Srass 1s cut short, and
iornidie Pair y ay mounds, Yankee carefulness
eee pon the gr een sea, until the luxuriant ¢
. y beyond the injury of a heedless step.
6° round your elbow to
Cultivated for food.

On the

rop
You must
oet, , 7 7 . 1
get to your thumb, where grass is
Siaca right of the dilapidated fr.
Slzed bar CER : axe
oe ‘as lonely im seeming, as is indeed the whole country
i ( . . f
und, in any direction ; xy hi
“gainst hills before tl é ee ey
_ elore they reach the leneth of the
Vision, r

ame house is a good-

Tur
urn your eyes

ir line of

) : eee :

i And dotting those hills are tiny white specks

. 1 Md . > gs ‘i
Oging to the sides,

Secur; rR ‘
. Urity, with little sickly lines of blue smoke, lazily ¢

Ino fr
8 Irom the small cages seeking an outlet from the rock-

Ninky ‘
ound vale in the upper air,

of houses,
seemingly, in an uncertain state of

url-

You look around the deep,

silent, solemn valley ee
as though you h iP a a

fa Ay sate a been shipwrecked in sleep, and washed
ead cee : J “3 de day-long, to look over the high,
Binns: a 3 n the lonely hollow and catch a cheering
sat i the broad level Beulah '

Ve South.

On tl e i f
, , 3 Peek. sad is ®
ua : ; left the dilapidated frame house Is a cow-yard
a J19°-Nhnan -: | i i"
&-pen; three COWS g ar
+ ; and one pig are the occupants ; and

lands of your dear sweet

 
 

138 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY,

Silas Stanhope and three sons are milking and feeding the
grunting and lowing quadrupeds.

Silas wears a garment over his pants that puts you to the
blush with its peculiar cut. You have never seen it worn
in that fashion before, and think it highly unbecoming as
an outer garment; and though you find you haye misnamed
the article, it does not lessen its likeness to the original nor
increase your kindness for the custom.

There are no flowers or flowering shrubs and vines about
the door and in the narrow yard before the frame house.
There are no instruments of music beneath the low roof,
besides the strong lungs of a Yankee babe and cooking-
utensils.

Martha Stanhope, the wife and mother, is a large, sun-
burnt and fire-faded woman, with blue eyes and black hair.
She is hard-working and weary-looking, but carries a kind,
lovable nature under an unrefined exterior. If you con-
verse with the tired housewife about the cares and vexa-
tions of this life, she will tell you, frankly:

“T¢ I’d known I should’ve had five children, and such
a lot of work to do, I neyer would ’ve married!”

Silas turns his good-natured eyes upon her as he sits in a
home-made chair by the kitchen-fire, and smiles in his easy,
quiet way. Then he puts his bare toes nearer the warm
blaze, and nods after his hard day’s work.

It was Monday, and the soap-suds flew and hissed under
Martha Stanhope’s flushed face, and whitened her red arms
laid bare to the shoulders.

“ Five children and a man make lots of work for one
woman every Monday,” she said,-soberly.

The soap-suds spattered and hissed, and the baby splut-
tered and cooed as it crawled around the kitchen on a tour
of inspection. Martha Stanhope said her baby went on pick-it
duty every wash-day, while her arm-y lay in clothes quarters.

 

 

,
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 138

a

Silas made
With an y
brown h

an unexpected advent into Martha’s presence
31} y rial: } ) '
nusually brisk step, holding
and,
“T Si & 4

Say, Mat, Horace is married |?

“ I

want tew yl?’ sai i

foes tew know!” said Martha, squeezing the soap-suds
er red arms and drying them with her

cao

Pata : apron.
a fe a gun, Hor’s married; to a Southern be

” and worth seventeen thousand dollar
Dew tell!”
4nd soap-suds
dry,

an open letter in his

auty at
~ 9 99
Ss.
ejaculated Martha, wiping the perspir:
tg from her face and smoothing out he
all, Horace is ra-al harnsome, and I
te sO well.”
.

3 I hope he hain’t dec
rouble
Sad

ation
r apron to
he do don’t wonder

eived the girl, and not cit i a
it mwaa girl, ¢ t git intew
1e 's found eout.
dog — never would

Must » .
ust run off tew Ne
1e *s Ww

Horace is harnsome, but a
settle down tew honest work, but
w Yorick as counter-hopper ;

; and how

ay down In N t } i ong as 27'S.
or h Caro rn 4 > n higger

t 1 1y 1 ng the na ty ggers,

“tal ed wee a rich beauty! Here it is: ‘Bertha the

* — that’s what she’s called.”

ria they comin’ on?”

Mr. Pe not — narthin’ said ’bout
€imont, his father-in-]

oe

it in this document.
ee aw, has set him up in business
PE aesg. good store, and if he se
°W well,
18 wild 0
burn ?

7 ttles down soberly, he may
ut I have my doubts if the boy has sowed all
‘d oats yet. If she has Southern fire in ’er, she ’ll
: 1m some time, if he’s
On my farm.

“< Y -
as;

oO 7 .
US-minde

: the same Horace that used tew
You remember Sue Tolman?”

an’ it broke her heart! Horace is dres
d — that’s so.”

Wor

udful jeals

“< If I . 8p % 4
‘ ls wife is fiery, he won’t break her he:

Teak hj
Tled th
an’

PS ee art; but she’ll
: head, if he treats her as he did Sue. If he’d mar
a raf

es girl, as he promised, ’t would a’ bin worse
stter for ? inki
“Ty for the one he’s got now, I’m thinkin’ !”
Vvonder Horace married.

for her

I set him down for an old

 
 

 

THE BEAUTY.
140 BERTHA, THE BE

;
arryv ey re too
bach’. Such harnsome men don’t often marry es y »
eat la i irls; and Horace was
’ flirtin’ w > girls; an
yain and fond of flirtin’ with the gi vias pea
lreadful proud of his beauty and precious self g
dreadfu Aa
: , twenty-three.
2 »’s only twenty-tl f St
aes i see that as clear as you can
“The fellow ’s in love; I can see the pan aan®
} « ‘ey "J rs > Oo ° >
>nose. And that’ll make it all the worse : ks
hell to , death or fury with his green eyes.
he’ll torment ’er tew death o y uae pages
H. ace is the jealousest rascal that ever lived ~ pie
ing raage Be ey ‘mother g
beard. Why, he showed it in everything. gS mo fey
ae f° i han his as I was 0 ,
i ar than his as
iece of pie as much bigger the .
me a piece of pie as ; Ms sig
he’d i for another bit, tew be even with is ae
r loved a boy better’n Sue Tolman did sila fy 7‘
ede i roke her heart!, And thi
deserted ’er from suspicion, and broke her eat hs
There’s Annette Lynn, whose good na
ain’t all, There’s Anne ) hie ee
ined; and the Lord knows how many more: ’ *
a s harnsome, an’ beauty made ’im vain.
because his face was harnsome, ty a a
“Yas; Horace thought he had the wor ¢ ca
ry se the girls showec
ve it over the moon, because the g
could heave it over the moon, othe En Ee
hook before the fish bit. I wonder if Berths 4 nk
100k be k ulasts
he her? I don’t know the Southern style, bu ei
iy aeth ak “here, since my day; perhé
say it’s about half-and-half here, since my ra ee:
ih fourths, with the girls! It dooz beat the
iree- 8, ‘
vanavn |
:ourt the men, nowadays ! cal
at ie aa 4 ers san keep the gree
; race will do well enough if he can keey g
“ Horace wi ) a wale gente
t’n’is eyes. He has a good heart, an’ isa ré g mee
ut ’n ’is eyes. than las PAs oer
3 tside. I hope he didn’t pass himself off as the ‘ *
utside. a
ag John Jacob Astor —it’s like ’im, though. He
0 onn d tAS : Ms nil
vas proud, and held a head higher than his pu ng
a 1 “he ag " vet b
on k if he’s fooled the girl. If he has he ge ee
tew know 8 ; Bape et a
I’ll bet ; for they say them Southern girls id fi Die
‘g ) i ave a so
I don’t know how you feel about it, but I ha 0 ne
E . Iria , F;
tion it won’t end well. I wonder girls wi
notion i
gers ” ; . she Ig
"Ay k iow the old saying, ‘Strange faces. If s
“ You kr s

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY, 141

rich and beautiful,
4-took him
Tun afte
little lo

she loves him, of course ;
and left better; for there ’s always plenty tew
r money, if there ’s no beauty along with j ;
ve will forgive a good many sins,
Horace hain’t deceived her, at last.”

“T don’t know — Horace ney

>’d have it at
he loy

ds »
Im fo

or she would n’t

and a
But perhaps

er set out for a thin
any cost of truth and honor.
es her, from the talk of this le
r honesty,
for he was c

g but
And the way
tter, I would n’t trust
He never had much of it in his best d

ontinually running intew debt, without
Prospect of gettin’ eout ;

1ave tew foot the
Saddle once worth

ays,
any

and, in the end, some of us would
bill tew save his credit! He give me a
fifteen dollars, and ‘in a week he took it
Away tew help pay a bill he’d run up in Pittsfield. And

the Whole of that bill ain’t paid tew this day — tl

1e dis-
1Onest dog ro

“Tf Bertha’s property
™Uch left of it in
Only Spe
the ¢
“Nough,

gits intew his hands, there won’t be
a few years, I dew think ! Horace
ndthrift — or ‘black
amily ;

is the
sheep,” as they call him — in
the rest of ’em know how

tew keep money well
Horace neve

r could hold on tew a doll
w keep seed in his pocket tew
tight through his fingers tew fe
d borrow as
“W luck tew carry hi
re Yas, that’s i got threough with my
Money ; DLs 5 “7.9 bi bys . :
chara, , some of his family 8, who had more care for his
Pay Phi than he had himself, until he took that saddle tew
hitn mie anness. 7 shan’t square any more bills for
dence veow! [ should n’t wonder a mite if he w
W married, and his wife’s father’ll }

ex
ough te

Slipped

ar long
swear by. It
ed his whims; and

long as a body would lend, and trust
m threough,”

And he always

as in
ave tew
at stir up his new relations,

while Silas was privately commenting upon his

 
 

142 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

3elmont was paying the merchant
and tailor in Williamsville for Horace Stanhope’s wedding-
suit! He had married the old man’s daughter without suf-
ficient means in his purse to pay for his bridal outfit !

It was on this occasion that Mr. Belmont exclaimed :

“Oh, what a goodly outside falsehood hath !”
ered her husband had

It was then that Bertha discov
neither honor nor sense of shame; and the respect he had
inspired by his refined deportment, tender devotion, and

ly away, and left her hopeless

personal charms, fell silent}
and helpless —fastened by Fate, to a mockery of manhood,

h the Gordian knot of a lifelong vow

brother’s worth, Mr.

wit
igly informed the

The Southern merchant and tailor smiliz

mortified and offended father :
“Tt was only a Yankee trick!”

 

CHAPTER XXVI.

EDALIA BETRAYS HER SECRET SORROW. — WALTER

ELDON’S CONFESSION.

OR’ bless yer heart, honey! Miss Min’s nuthin’ but 4
I tuck them grapes in myse’f, an’ I ’elarés
I

shadder !
the minit I seed ’er!

, I like ter bust out eryin’

honey
long — po’ thing!

don’t b’lieve she “ll live
blank like Miss Evy *fore she died!”

groaned, as she moved about the tea-table.

She looks pin?

And Aunt Cor

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY, 143
would si :
sign 3
Me gn de Pledge, as da calls it. But it’s mj ]
' break loose when de br: i prac on,
think ae e brandy is got holt on ’em onct. Ter
iVMLars arte. nestor w ; .
Sakes ae pri Chester would ever git drunk an’ ficht !
, ~S alive! I don’ blame ’im fi ippi ny
foi ae i pd lame ’im fur whippin’ ’im, do, honey
) ¢ Tet] .
quarter ses how he was at de store comin’ fi ie
or ee nee > comin’ from de
Words ’bout Mj » an’ hearn Mars Peter talkin’ some big
We eerolli a Iss Min, an’ de fust Ae knowed Mars Pet .
> @-roilin’ on de floor, an’ ISS: oy
itd oor, an’ Mars Charles ’ i
wie et it Charles ’long top on ’im!
prey andy ’s good fur, honey —ter rui
Iai tis fur, e} er ruin characters
Balin + ttum is jest like de ole sarpint in d
“Dian Nights, what Mars Walli a,
chile nee Mars Wallie used ter read ter you
ii a was a little boy. Jest let ’im git out’n de
>t ’ sie > 7
mac i = 4 Il swell an’ swell ter a big giant; an’ it’s
sity hard work ter fool ’i ta gar -¢
ter : ool ’im back ergin, an’ gi
Seeing oa gin, an’ git a chance
Stage Pa stopper on ’im! Dey better not tech it at fust
y. 10pes y little mi ; ne
at — ole pes my little missus ’ll never see trouble ’} '
i ole Aunt C ory does.” it
0, for I shall
shall never marry fae
“Shaw! arry, aunty.

— you thinks s eR ’
bumby J so now, chile, but you’ll git marred

it eee ce ole Aunt Cory knows you will. I hopes
thing't be er a mean Yanky, do, like Miss Bert — po’
Mars es ra Mars Peter say she looks like a ghose, an’
ike. de ; e etter not a hac im at fust, honey. ’Pears
‘Gnas ete gals is de mose éildetieee Ne séia lo?
re ak he ey haves so many chances dey dunno which
is de lucky 9 te gits de meanest at last! Miss Agey
Terginny. ft @. wishes Mars Wallie’d never gone ter

y; I’d gin anything ter see you an’ him marred,

10ne

-y — I sot

: my hear i :
Tiss Ae y t on it long ergo. Di says she seed

“ Did you see Charles, aunty i
ry’ .

8 ee a gen

&gy 8 weddin’-frock at Miss Crissy’s dis mornin’

“ Yes, chile; he was dare, lookin’ as sorry an’ sick as ef whi
’e was set’n by ’s mammy’s grave wid de baby in ’is Jap! 4 ‘ite muslin all kivered over wi f
Bless its little heart, it dunno what trouble it’s born ter iv ; nd bows, Miss Crissy nee — re, aa satin buttons
- ss Crissy tole Miss Hattie Simpkins, ’t was in
Ain’t you gwine to be brides-

we : . Ny % whi
dis wicked worl’, honey —po’ thing! Ef Mars Charles oD) hn vhisper, an’ Di hurd it
aid, honey ”

 
 

 

 

 

144 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“T don’t know, aunty; Agnes has never spoken to me on
the subject.”

A choking sensation seized Edalia; she turned away, and
leaned upon the window-sill.

The round October moon threw a shower of silver radi-
ance through the old sycamore limbs, sweeping the slum-
berous eayes, down upon the red leaves and sparkling grass ;
spreading a soft, misty gauze over the moaning tree-tops in
the dusky grove; and a whippoorwill set up its plaint off
in the moonlit hazy woods, waking the painful hush of
nature with a pulse of life.

A wind-waft came up from the silent graveyard, dimly
outlined in the gray of twilight, moaning through the
boughs, and sweeping onward with a low and pensive sound,
far away through the mellow moonlight— and the great
heart of night stood still.

A hand was laid gently upon the young girl’s bowed
head, and a gay voice startled her sluggish blood to a
swifter flow.

“OQ Edie! twine the laurel around the Victor’s brow!
The day is won, and — why, Edie? 4

His light tone died away, and he stood looking at her,
sadly and in silence.

“Tn tears, Edalia! — why does she weep, aunty ?”

“Lor’ bless yer heart, chile, I dunno, honey! She jes
bin talkin’ ter Aunt Cory, piert as a cricket! What’s de
matter wid de chile? ”

“Nothing, aunty, but the cool wind and _flower-pollen
vexing my weak eyes. And you have triumphed, Walter?
Let me congratulate you upon your success at the com-
mencement of your professional career.”

Disregarding her reference, he turned and said, mischiev-
ously :

“Tell me what she was talking about, aunty.”

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY, 145

*Q]
1, eV : ¢ r }
Sh a er so many things, honey —’bout Miss Min an’
. 1arles, an’ Miss Aggy, an’—”
Ar rhe P. 2” he;
ie id hie of Agnes?” he interrupted
Oke did n’ say i ;
n say nuthin’—on’y I was tellin’ ’er ‘bout Miss
7 5s

&gy’s Widdin’-f;
3Y 8 widdin’-frock Phan > te .
1ONey 2” - When is you gwine ter be marred,

“Tn

«

about five years, aunty.”
4uddy, chile! de white froc
8 alive!”

‘
“Con
ne iro ¢ 4 ~ "4
flower ] cigeince window, Edalia; the ‘cool wind and
Wine len are vexing your weak eyes’ again?”
ha bri Rave Ve : MELE, sips
Within } 4 bright smile and glowing cheek he drew her hand
us arm and led her into the parlor

He

> Place sev 2 .

hia Placed her in the full blaze of the candle-]
1g Over to command

“When

answer

tg k ’ll turn yaller ’fore then,

| blaz ight, and
~ a fair view of her face, said:
IS Agnes to be married 3 i
g 0 be married ? 28 ‘dali
are led? Be still, Edalia, and
aq
She has not made me her confidante.”
Ww Strangely,
ey hom is she to wed, Edalia ?”
é Ama utterly ignorant.”
But wha

ity Mr. RE

t says rumor? ”

Idon, I object to this catechizing when

for

Mation f:

“tion far surpasses mi

ps surpasses mine. Allow me remove fi
he liad ow me to remove from

it is absolutely blinding.”
‘ine ely blinding.
gy on! Edalia! this from you ?”
°rgive me, Walter ; I —”

Suffocati i
‘ atina S P :
articy] § Sensation rendered al

ate another syllable.

© put his ar o
x us arm a vais d lifti
With hen around her waist, and lifting her face

: en ps ai p
and look 7 p um, laid her head back upon his shoulder
ec down in her moist eyes. é

your in-

Jortive every effort to

: I could not do otherwise,
, x 9s Aones « ‘ ;
Sives Agnes, and from whom it
K

I know to
originated —

ee

a aT

 

 
 

 

146 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

Peter Simpkins. Did you really credit the assertion,
Edalia?”

Ja A Md

“Then let me say to you, Edie, that I have never desired
to be more than a friend to Agnes. Why how you tremble,
little girl! And there’s a sparkling pearl peeping out from
its silken covert —and another! My dear Edie!”

Walter Eldon strained her to his bosom, and kissed her
lips and forehead with more passion than he had ever dis-
played before.

Then he seated her on the sofa, and addressed her with
brotherly seeming and confidence.

“ No, Edalia, I have never loved Agnes; and even if it
were not so—”

His lips compressed firmly—he rose and traversed the
apartment.

“JT should not marry for years to come. There are
obligations to be repaid, before incurring a new responsi-
bility.”

His face grew white, and his form proudly erect. He
resumed his seat beside her, and looked long and mourn-
fully upon her face.

“ Ah, Edie, before I can shake off the galling chains of

dependence, you will be the bride of some favored one of
fortune!”

“No, J shall not, Walter.”

His countenance lighted up—his bosom swelled. He
moved impulsively towards her, with words visible in his
luminous, heavenly blue eyes, but subjecting his nervous
faculties to the domination of a powerful will, he restrained
his impulsiveness and conversed calmly and with fraternal
seeming.

Walter had made his debut as a lawyer in Bertha’s nativ?
town, and had triumphed.

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

Edal; Mgt
weedeat her to inquire:
“

He remained in town, Bertha is coming
ie to-morrow — her husband is gone.”
Manone up and danced at the glad news of

S$ coming, till the laughing young man caught her

u ® ee :
ae his arms, and carried her off in triumph to the supper-
™ as the bell sounded the call.

hi home with

CHAPTER XXVII.

BERTHA RETROSPECTS THE PAST,
M I? ”

Gaertn pd the words softly as she sat alone in her
Gian =a oo ing off at the pale golden stars spangling the
hit a - fe slumberous June night — looking away out
ei the violet depths, yet seeing nothing but the dark
"’ n along the soiled leaf of her inner life.
Am I?”
eet — mouth shut more firmly, and the small
eat hl geiregese restlessly through the short, shining,
the sinde 8 aes fluttered over her lily-white forehead, and
likbieery Ww of a thought was in the brown depths of her
ed eyes,
hat was Bertha thinking about? And what did
tired heart, beating time to the death-dirge of its

ruin
eC g .
. 1 hopes, answer to the mysterious words :
Am I?”
7 :

d Ow

he y i
: poor tired heart gave a fuller throb, and sank away
u :
nder slow, soft pulses, and answered not a word — it

 

 
 

 

148 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

was afraid to utter what it felt, lest it should condemn itself.
But “God, who is greater than the heart, and knoweth all
things,” heard the deep thoughts under those slow, soft
pulses, and the spirit rapped out on the table of feeling the
mystic monosyllable :

ONo Te

And Bertha’s brown eyes smiled very faintly as they
looked off into the blue vista, thickly sown with stars, and
mellow with moonlight ; and the heart under those short,
brown curls pulsed on with an evener beat as thought rolled
up in dark waves from the shadowy past, and ran in little
silvery rills off through the slumberous eve and the mellow
moonlight into the veiled future, and the poor tired heart
asked, as it dreamed on and on all alone in the purpled
eve-light :

“When will it end?”

Only one year of married life had gone, and Bertha won-
dered if the clouds and storms of that one, that had bruised
and blighted her young life, would not suffice for the years
that God’s omnipotent hand might hold to fold around her
future fate. .

Horace Stanhope was gone, and the quiet that fell around
her life was sweet to the heart that had so long struggled in
the wild waves of discord and uncongeniality.

Day after day, his atheistic and tyrannical soul had crept
from the deceptive covering that concealed it, until it stood
forth in all its deformity and hideousness; and the little
tendrils of wifely feeling that might have been nurtured by
tender forbearance and manly worth into strong, vigorous
vines of affection, trailing around his life and embowering it
with cooling shade and sweet blossoms, fell away seared and
blasted by the rude shock of his dishonorable and cruelly
exacting nature.

Horace Stanhope was an atheist, and Bertha grew cold,

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 149

With s . ; R
ith sudden surprise and dread, as she drew forth the vil-

la = Sate: Seg :
“Nous works of Hume and Voltaire from their concealment
amon

g his effects, and made the shuddering discovery of
ler }

Sage 1usband’s masked principles. She consigned the in-
1quitous volumes to the flames, and reduced them to ashes
Without his knowledge. She did not wait to consider the
Consequences — Horace Stanhope never saw the wicked
Works again. He smiled when the deed was voluntarily
acknowledged, and essayed to defend his faith. Bertha
Stood aghast at the sophistry employed to extenuate his
freat guilt. She was not “under grace” herself, but she
had been taught from babyhood to say, “Our Father ;”
and her belief in a God was as strong and elear as the un-
clouded midsummer sun at noonday. She could not argue
With him from experience, but she laid the Bible between
them to decide the all-important question, and heard it
Sneeringly pronounced “a cunningly devised fable!” —an
Mnfidel’s invariable resort.
; Bertha never reasoned with him again on the subject, and
Torace Stanhope made no effort and manifested no desire

to Proselyte his believing wife to his own unbelief. But he
threw obstacles in the way of her church-going, until Bertha
“ae them with the strength of an unconquerable
rtd ee sunrenrolle resisted his authority to shut her out
ite — 8 baly, sanctuary. Her disobedience furnished
“ie? Prt i ’ eapon with which to fight her own faith, and
their a y stabbed the religion that taught wives to defy

ri n husbands !

We should obey God, rather than man’” — was

ertha’s parry to the vindictive thrust.

Horace Stanhope was kind and tender during his wife’s
rena wea Mr. Belmont trusted to his great love to
Peg : 8 parure and correct his evil tendencies, The son-

leferred openly to the old man’s judgment and

13 *

me

 

tate

ee

 
 

150 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY,

advice, but secretly he chafed under the restraint that pru-
dence laid upon necessity,

He was more than penniless, and Bertha’s father estab-
lished him in a flourishing mercantile business, His affable
manners and handsome face rendered him popular, and
prosperity perched upon his banner. The world called him
a “lucky dog,” and made merry over the “ Yankee trick ”
he had played upon his credulous father-in-law.

But with Bertha’s recovery, and appearance in society,
the old unrest returned, and affairs grew darker daily, until
they culminated in open rupture.

Mr, Belmont found, upon investigation, that Horace Stan-
hope’s business prosperity, in which he was interested, was
only upon the surface. The funds he had furnished to
found the establishment were all expended or unaccount-
ably invisible, and no profits forthcoming to replenish the
stock! Horace Stanhope could not render a satisfactory
account of the missing funds and lack of surplus, and the

.long forbearing, but now fully aroused father, turned the
key in the store-door, and indignantly ordered the treacher-
ous and worthless son-in-law from his premises. Mr. Bel-
mont said, wrathfully :

“There is a point beyond which forbearance ceases to be
a virtue!”

Horace Stanhope went up to Bertha’s chambey, laid his
wicked head upon her bosom, and wept tears of hate, and
yearning for reyenge—-plaintively attributing them to an
overwhelming sense of innocence, outraged by her unjust
and unfeeling father !

Tears from her husband was no unusual sight to Bertha,
and they failed to produce the desired effect. She had seen
them fall from his large, soft, beautiful eyes on every occa-
sion that policy found it expedient to awaken sympathy,
until she had become disgusted at the unmanly resort. The

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 15:
Tain-drina ss . ’
-drops that fell from Horace Stanhope’s blue eyes had
- n, In Bertha’s home, the unenyiable designation of
Crocodile tears,”
Bertha blushe
Such dise
lost ;

long wo

d with shame at the sound that reflected
redit upon one in whom her own individuality was
Sas ace Knew the application was just, and she shrank

: In herself and from him.

Horace Stanhope saw the breach widening between them,
Tew more tyrannical and secretly violent. Bertha
d to fear him, not that he was brave and daring,—
the — es en ce dtr of valiant,— but she distrusted
esata i rar
se eaten “ 7 —, ay, af “4 mg ong confine-

7) © sought to restrict her liberties to the narrow
uts of his own jealous and arbitrary will, by incarcerating
‘er from the world. f

Horace

lin,

stich, ee pe cowered before the spark of spirit-light

i sg ‘i 1e flint and steel of constant oppression and

petual strife,—and Bertha knew her husband was a
4Stard as well as tyrant.

Berth; ; E

‘4 €rtha Belmont had said truly, when she wrote Edalia
8) Y i
m La VIOLET SEMINARY:

&< I ze is q
despise meanness. ‘The very Sight of a mean mortal

Dausge; “a ’ . ‘ >
Pa ‘cates me.” And the daily view of a mean spirit, bear-
< 80 close a rel
Of sel¢
Self-eontro]

But Berth

ationship to her, was wearing her powers

and her very life away.

4 was as easily led by love as she was repelled

Ss; and her husband’s returning tenderness and
nee covered, for a time, the multitude of sins

d to continually recurring clouds and storms in
¢ horizon,

An i i id i -
egep 1 now that his chief aid in obtaining her hand had
Serted and cast |

exer 1im off for his baseness, Horace Stanhope
st arts and sunniest wiles to win her from

Onduce
‘elr domesti

 

 

 
152 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“Tt would be a blow to the old man, and his revenge!”
he said, mentally ; but Bertha heard the thought expressed,
by his torturing lips, when it was too late to retrieve her
loss !

“You promised never to take me from my home,” she
said, in answer to his pleadings.

“ Without your consent, my wife.”

“ And with my consent you will not take me now, Mr.
Stanhope. You have no means to provide for yourself,
setting aside my expenses. It would be the part of pru-
dence for me to remain, even if my inclination seconded your
wish.”

“You don’t wish to go with your husband, Bertha? —
driven out by those with whom you will remain! Dear,
will you suffer me to leave you forever? I shall never
return to this State when I am once out of it, Bertha.”

“ And I shall never leave this State, Mr. Stanhope, while
my parents and brother are in it, without a great change
that I fear will never come.”

“ What change, Bertha?”

“ Recall the past of our married life; Mr. Stanhope, and
ask yourself if it seem wise and desirable that I should
abandon a quiet home “and tender friends and go out into
the wide world, a homeless stranger, with one who has not
made my happiness in the past !”

“Dear, you will have no cause to complain, when you
leave all and rely upon me. You have never been wholly
mine yet, Bertha; you have been divided among many, and
your love for and dependence upon others have occasioned
the discord in the harmony of our wedded life.”

Bertha’s lips shut tightly. She would not reproach him
for his unfaithfulness to her father, and enumerate his many
acts of cruelty and violence to herself; but to resign all for
him, to follow his fortunes in a strange land, with the sick-

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

ening ise r ‘ . .
Be, odor of Hume and Voltaire exhaling from his spirit,
4S not in her thoughts.
7; Wi .
] y , y a ita §
ro you gow ith your husband, my dear wife?”
sis the softness and sweetness that Horace Stanhope
ild ¢ ee . :
command were poured into those words, and it was

pleass . : -

ant to Bertha. He was on his knees, with his hand-
8 a ‘
Some heg

Waist,
it w

ad upon her shoulder and his arms around her
“0% was forgetting the past, and thinking perhaps
as ar 7, © * y;
ai ee and the future would reward her for the
ae te on it. He saw his ad rantage and followed it
et nB¢3 ed words. Hume and Voltaire were shut out

an — by his enticing smiles.

_*tow can you obtain funds sufficient to take me?”

She looked down in his eyes. There was a steely flash
one he hitter of triumph that chilled her like ice.
sas - brother in New York will furnish the needful,” he

ig xultingly.

And how will you repay him?”

«
a I can obtain a situation in the city, no doubt.”
And if not?”

corm

here are no ‘ifs’ about it, Bertha; there are always
°penings } 7 i
Man’ gs there for one like me, who understands the sales-
Nan’s business,”
Pe gettin: t
“s Phat resolved her back into herself. He understood the
sinecs 7 i i i i .
hess so well that it had driven him from her father’s
Ouse! Mj i i
lon ©! She saw Hume and Voltaire again, and was no
Cer > © .
" charmed by the charmer.
1en go and obtain the situation, Mr. Stanhope. Repay

all : : av st, vi ; ;
your pecuniary obligations ; place yourself in a situation

not 345

. ths be embarrassed by my additional expenses; and if
“en refuse to receive you here as a son-in-law, I will join
you in New York.”

Horac 1 i i i
race Stanhope grew white with disappointment and

Wra : ovo ¥)
ath. He loved his beautiful young wife as well as he was

 

 

 
 

 

154 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY,

capable of loving anything beside his sensual self; and the
idea of leaving her among her old admirers for so long a
period of probation, with no lynx-eye to follow her day in
and day out, wrought him to fury. He did not consider it
was his own misconduct that had driven him out ;— he
thought only of the necessity that was upon him. He
learned to value her more, now that his sins had separated
between him and his heart — for Horace Stanhope had a
heart, though it was so grown over with the thorns of
iniquity that the sharp points pierced its core, and tortured
all that came in contact with it.

“Ts that your determination, Bertha ?”

She saw the premonitory symptoms of a violent eruption,
in his whitening lips and swelling bosom, and tried to nerve
herself for the burning lava of irrepressible passion.

“ Mr. Stanhope, I cannot go with you now. You are not
in a situation to manfully meet’the liabilities that’ will be
incurred by my compliance with your request. I should
only be a burden.”

“Dear, with you I shall be strong to labor and wait;
without you, it will be impossible to succeed. I shall die
without you, Bertha!”

She had heard such assertions before, and knew how
much they were worth when they had accomplished his
object; but they did not fail to affect her sensibility almost
to tears, under the circumstances,

“Mr. Stanhope, try it and see.”

“Ts that your final answer, Bertha?”

“Tt is; but let us part peaceably, Horace. For your own
sake you must go without me now. I am—”

“Yes, for my sake! for my sake! Good Lord, how con-
siderate and loving she is! Go alone, because she loves me
so! Try it and see! Yes, try it and die, and leave her
free to Harry Herbert !—church-member Harry Herbert!

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 155

Saintly Herbert! and the rest of the infernal scoundrels
that she cares a damned sight more for than she does her
husband | Oh, what a precious, immaculate, devoted wife
She is | ” — he sneered and hissed, as he walked the room in
4 white heat,

Bertha’s face was white as his own, now. The taunt and
Sheer, and imputation cast upon her honor, in his wild
tis shrank fire from the flint, and set her Southern spirit

3 blaze of indignation.

I never said I loved you, Mr, Stanhope,” she answered,
Coolly,
Z He turned upon her fiercely, as the chilling words fell
Tom her scornful lips.
ge one don’t love me, madam ! You glory in your
a ‘You uttered a living lie at the bridal altar, and
ast of it now!”

“I never said I loved you, Mr. Stanhope. You knew all
ar made me your wife, I gave you timely warning
“a i 2 avert this wretched fate, but you would not re-
PA ita . am not responsible for the unhappiness that has
ag Fen ~ fatal minehocett of June. I could not control
rs sud ny, and successfully strive against my fate—I was
ea netwnecn hands. It is folly to reproach me for
ae y tried to avert. It is worse than folly to affect
Neth ili “4 what you knew from the beginning. I
Saas ge eae we were married, and I should haye
of ae pone you, doubtless, had you watered the germ
re pith —_ the cool dew of gentleness and nursing
befor, rt not frozen iin its earth-bed with jealous tyranny,
erty — buds had put forth in the warm spring

* You might have won me to love you once, but I

ado I
ot even respect you now! ”

Hor
Wn into

4ce Stanhope’s fury cooled off, as her burning eyes ate
his passionate soul. He saw the game was up,

 

 
en am agg

 

oo

156 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY,

and he had “lost a day” without a lucky cut of his fortune
cards. He went back to her side, and wet her shoulder
with apparently penitential tears.

“Oh, Bertha, my wife, unsay those cruel words! It kills
me to part with you, and you add to my misery by words
of scorn!”

“A worm will turn if trodden upon, Mr. Stanhope. I
said, let us part in peace, and you impelled me to self-justi-
fication. by sneers and insulting insinuations. I am no
angel, and you should not expect from me the unparalleled
patience of a Job. I have earnestly tried to perform my
duty as your wife, and I think you cannot cite one instance
of disobedience, except in obeying Him to whom I owe my
first allegiance. Iam no Christian in experience, and have
not the forbearance of a saint. I regret that you have
driven me to this extremity ; let us forgive and forget the
past, and mutually try to cultivate a better spirit in the
future.”

“You will not forget me, Bertha, when I am so far
away ?”

“T shall never forget you, Horace,” was all she said.

And so they parted —with mutual tears and pardons; he,
crushed down by the necessity of leaving her —a necessity

”

brought about by his own wickedness—and yearning for
vengeance upon his justly incensed father-in-law.

And Bertha sat alone in the dewy eve-light, and asked
her heart if it was sad because Horace Stanhope was far
away, and the sound of his footsteps was no longer heard in
her quiet home, and his words of love and jealousy, and
wild passion, no longer soothed and irritated and tormented
her. But the tired heart sank down half reprovingly, and
did not answer, audibly, the low query:

Am: 12”

BE RTHA, THE BEAUTY.

CHAPTER XXVIII.
BERTHA’S FRIENDS AND FOES.

“Tea Tam y . >
M ISS WATRUFF was married, and gone from “the Aca-
. ’ . 2
demy” at the “Grove.” Miss Watruff had “ aught”
andsome young Southron, with her black eyes and

Music: ene .
: sical talent, and her Northern principles did not scruple
0m

a hes

ft arry a dozen negroes and a good round share of pro-
anity,

W indsor Burleigh was handsome and rich, but not
aristocratic,
me Q
ntal acquirements, and his wealth covered all constitu-
1on¢
: ral sins and hereditary transmissions from Miss Wat-
“ 8 wide-awake eye.

; Vhat a world of inconsistencies there is on the outside
oO
this beautiful but snake-bitten earth !

His beauty compensated for a deficiency in

G , :
10 North, and you hear little else but slavery denounced

and slay *
l slay eholders anathematized.

Go South

, and you see wandering, money-hunting Yan-
cee x : .
S marrying the “institution” as rapidly as they can

Whe . .
eedle silly girls and sillier women into the absurdity of
Saying “Ves fr?

NV
‘ Mis Watruff met her match in the matrimonial state,
ane re
Was richly repaid for her injustice and un feeling de-

thes 5 . ry
tment towards little Bertha in years gone by. The

“mex ; .
«. Sure she meted” “ her unoffending young pupil was

I
Neasured to her again.’

W indsor Burleigh and “ Bertha the Beauty” were school-

ms ites
Ss and “sweethearts” in childhood ds vys; and our hero-

> kne W,

; when she heard of his marriage, he would not
ee

rushed by coldness, and hurt by insults, from his fair
14

— sitet
a ee oe

SN Nc ee

SS

 

a -

 
 

 

—“
ee

— er Ptret
ASOT gph NR

158 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

bride, as she had been, by her servile teacher, in other
years.

Windsor walked rough-shod over small things, and beat
down large ones with powerful oaths and tobacco-quids, that
made even stubborn hearts quail. Bertha liked the youth,
but feared his strong language ; and his manhood’s soul was
as strong as his school-day words. Windsor’s wife died be-
fore she broke her husband’s heart.

Dora Wilmer was now a “finished young lady,” with
many lovers of her father’s fortune fluttering around his
delicate daughter. Dora was not handsome in the slightest
degree, saving her long, black, silky eye-lashes, that lent a
peculiar interest to her pale blue eyes. She was dainty in
person, and tricked out in all the glittering paraphernalia
that country wealth could procure.

Dora was really a good girl at heart; apart from her
mother’s influence, she was an amiable, lovable woman.
She was destitute of vanity, and cared no more for men and
manners than a child in pantalets and short frock.

If a lord of creation in broadcloth and shining boots,
with Chesterfield grace and dignity, careful to please the
“young heiress,” urged her to favor him with music against
her inclination, Dora would “swear she would n’t!” and
her singular style of expression was set down by her host of
admirers to “privilege ” and “ peculiarity.”

There was a handsome carriage standing at the yard-gate
of the “Grove.” Ellen Wilmer was the occupant, and her
little boy and a black nurse. Mrs. Ellen Wilmer had just
arrived from Williamsville, and stopped a while at her
uncle’s gate on her way to the “old place.” She evidently
had news. Colonel Wilmer, wife, and daughter, were stand-
ing near the carriage. Mrs. Ellen Wilmer was speaking
fast, with pleased eyes.

“Bertha Belmont’s husband has run away and left her.”

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 159

ity . . :
I thought so. I knew nobody could live with her in
apa} .
Peace!” and Mrs. Colonel Wilmer clasped her bony hands
and looked strangely unsympathizing.

“ . .
Oh, la!” ejaculated Dora, stretching her pale eyes,
Soberly,

“Damn him!” muttered the Colonel, looking daggers at
8 smiling wife,

Mrs. Ellen went on, glibly:

“ He’s stole all old Belmont’s money, and broke him up
Toot and branch, and run off from his wife, who is breaking
ner heart about him, and the disgrace of the whole affair.
They Say they ’ve lived like cat and dog ever since their
Marriage. Old Belmont let it all out after Stanhope stole
his Money and put out for Yankee-land.”

“I wonder he did n’t kick him out, neck and heels, before
he ran off,” snarled the Colonel. “The Lord knows I
Never liked the looks of the fellow; handsome he was, to
°e ‘sure, but there was a sneaking, snaky look about the
rascal that I never liked; and they say Bertha married

hi . 3 : aad ‘
roa against her will; her father fancied him —I’ve heard
80,

hi

° Fudge !” sneered Mrs. Colonel Wilmer, “don’t you
believe it! She never would have done better! I pity the
man if he isa Yankee! I know her—the poor and proud
Mpudent fire-eater |”

“Now, Helen!” warned her liege, “don’t say ‘ fire,’ when
You ’ve got enough of. it yourself, and some to spare.
Bertha was a wonderfully smart girl, with just spirit enough
to defend herself and her rights. I never liked poor people
who would lie down in the dirt, and let rich ones walk over
full, ‘Bertha the Beauty’ won’t do that, you may bet! The
y W'S @ scoundrel, and the poor girl deserves a better fate.

— heard sly rumors about his dishonesty and jealousy
of his Wife’s beauty. Is’pose they tried to keep it in and

SS TAIN:

Sense

Se ee ee

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

160 - BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

hide his meanness. Id like to twist the rope that would
hang him, by Es

Colonel Wilmer was not a profane man habitually, and
it was only on occasions of unusual excitement that the for-
bidden words slipped out.

“Poor Bert! I’m re-al sorry for her!” and Dora’s face
testified to her truthfulness despite her mother’s angry eyes.
“That’s right, my girl, always talk up for the right.”

Colonel Wilmer’s great clumsy arms gave Dora a good
hug for her honesty, and his good-natured mouth met hers
with a “buss” that might have been heard at a consider-
able distance.

Mrs. Ellen Wilmer’s carriage rolled away from the Grove,
and Dora ordered the ponies out for a horseback ride. Dora
was overflowing with the great news, and must pour it out
to Edalia and Minnie, before her blue eyes could rest in
slumber.

She had outgrown her childish envies and jealousies, and
forgiven the snaps and snarls of juvenility. Her father’s
disposition was more perceptible in the young lady than it
had been in the little girl. Dora sprang upon the pony’
back, and throwing a kiss from her fingers to her fat and
lazy father, who was stretched upon the porch settee, with @
little negro kneeling at his head, cracking hairs, she galloped
away from the Grove and up the broad, white road, with
black Harry on the match pony, following hard behind his
young mistress.

Minnie was sitting with Edalia, when Dora burst iM
without the slightest ceremony, in her “ peculiar” and
“ privileged” way.

“Oh, Ed — Min, that rascal Stanhope from Yankeedom
has run away and left Bert, and stole all her father’s money
to boot!”

“T don’t believe it,” said Edalia.

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 161

“ T ’ > . ‘ . Ps

B ee 8 Yankee-like!” exclaimed Minnie. “Poor

ert!
“ a4
4g Baty C .

Bi ¢s, poor Bert !—J say, poor Bert! She looked like a
10st whe ‘ } ;

a a W hen I saw her last spring, and I heard some whisper

< a * a . . .
“a x" Yankee’s jealous tyranny; but I set it down to ser-
ants ¢ . é: .

CF in slanders. I see now what made her so thin and pale
Poor thing!”
Dora’s a mein
- os 8 eyes looked suspiciously lustrous.

SVlavhbe it jen’? ” 2 *
one it is n’t true, suggested incredulous Edalia.

si Suess-work about it. Cousin Ellen has just come

m
town and brought the sorry news. I’m glad he’s

oO

5°0ne xclare if

; 5. declare, if he had n’t stole Bert’s money, and broke
ter heart ! |
disgrac

fr

Cousin El says she’s dying about him, and the
Ni ¥ he’s brought upon her — poor Bert !”

ously yrs sree about that,” said Edalia, mysteri-
was 7: . age nitehereehd health will ‘improve speedily ;
nit ete re disgrace, I predict it will follow him, and

«nw TY With her. But did he really run off?”
an’, seers El says he ’s broke Mr. Belmont root and
that ahr run tiwaly with the money. And you know
AWiy: they injure Bert’s reputation, if her husband has run
J n her — poor Bert!”

“cc
oy doubt it. There are two sides to this affair, and we
© only seen one, Wait a little till the whole story is

ou 5) x
t. Ill write to Bertha to-night.”

Pin ae did not have to wait long for the whole story.
Whit » tomlin was in her uncle’s office, communicating the
© truth to Mr. Redmond and Walter. He had just
eee “3 Williamsville. They entered the apartment,
Msc e three friends sat discussing the same subject.
,. Redmond broke forth, jubilantly :
T say, Ed, Yankee Belmont has kicked Yankee Stan-

ho
be oO ? 2 .
x be ut 0’ doors, and he’s clean gone, forever! Hang ’im
et im go!” ¢ ees

14 * ir

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

162 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“T said so!” cried Edalia,

“And a good riddance for her!’ exclaimed Minnie.

“ Cousin Ellen said he stole all Mr. Belmont’s money and
ran away from Bert!” said Dora, in amazement.

“Cousin Ellen has got hold of the tail instead of the
head,” said Mr. Tomlin, roughly. “Instead of running
away from his wife, he tried hard to get her to follow him!
But ‘Bertha the Beauty’ had cut her eye-teeth, and would n’t
budge an inch for his tears and prayers.”

“T thought so,” reiterated Edalia, significantly.

“Good for Bert!” ejaculated Minnie, with a sad smile on
her sickly-looking face,

“Well, I’m re-al glad Cousin El got the wrong story,”
said Dora.

“Some folks always take snap judgment,” growled Mr.
Tomlin. “I got my story from Mr, Belmont, and no mis
take. The easy old man has got his eyes open at last, and
his dander is up —no two ways about that!”

“Then he did n’t steal her money?” inquired Miss Dora.

“Not exactly as you put it, but it amounts to the same
thing when you whittle it to a point. The goods are gone;
debts to pay in New York, and no proceeds from the sale
of ‘value received’ to pay ’em with. If that ain’t twit
sister to theft, I should call it first cousin on both sides.
Belmont had to pay for the clothes he married his daughter
in—the sneaking, mean-spirited Yankee rascal! He was
jealous as a Turk, just because his wife was so beautiful and
universally admired, and tried to shut her up from all the
world, even from church. But Bert showed her grit theré
and he could n’t come that game, She was always a re-
markably modest and religious little thing, and wouldn't
give in to bein’ left in the lurch there — you may bet! I
hope she flattened his Yankee nose for it! He kept the
whole family in a stew, everlastingly, and handled that poo

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 163

child pretty roughly, in his jealous rage; then he’d snub
like a booby, and beg her pardon on his knees. Now he’s
been kicked out of the house, and left her father his debts
to pay; and no one knows what has gone with the money,
for the rascal did a flourishing business.. I wonder they
Stood it with him as long as they did. J should a come
down on im, long ago, like a fence-rail on a green snake! ”
i, should n’t think Bertha Belmont would love such a

biped as that!” said Edalia, nodding her curly head signifi-
Cantly at Dora,
_ Love him! Cre-ation! Belmont coaxed her into marry-
mg him, in the first place, — and now he’s got paid for his
Sin. I did n’t git that from him, though, you may bet high!
Tt was all over town before her marriage, they say, but kept
dark ; and now that Belmont has let the cat out, nobody
Scruples to revive the old story and censure him. Nobody
Can tell where the tale sprung, but niggers have keen eyes
and big ears. Love him, indeed! ‘ Bertha the Beauty’ ain’t
biti after that pattern! Isaw her this morning, pretty and
timid as ever, but careworn. She longs for the old days and
€arly friends. Her brown eyes filled brimful of tears when
She spoke of the low brown house with the long piazza.”

“ Poor thing!” said Edalia, shutting her mouth very
tight,

“Poor Bert!” echoed Minnie, wiping the tears from her
faded eyes,
“T wish he ’d lost his breath before he ever came South!”
’pped out Dora, growing very white.
“A bad penny’s pretty apt to come back again, and I
hope Bertha won’t think it her bounden duty to stick the
Closer to a bad bargain, if the rascal turns up again. If she
does shell do it, you may bet your pile on that!” growled
Mr, Tomlin, as he strode out of the house and away.

8n

 

 

 

 
 

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

CHAPTER XXIX.

EDALIA SURPRISES MR, REDMOND. — NIGHT-SCENE AT
“JONES'S STORE.”

ND so Agnes has returned?” said Mr. Redmond, as he
lolled back in his easy-chair before a blazing winter
fire, with feet elevated to an astonishing height upon the
mantel. ‘Only went to play bridesmaid for a cousin, eh?
and disappoint the wiseacres hereabouts. Wonder what
the busybodies’ll scare up next, Wall, my boy? But, by
Jupiter, I thought so, too! and p’rhaps ’t ain’t too late yet?”
He looked askance at the young man. Walter colored.
“T shall never marry Agnes, sir.”
opt ae
The old gentleman's eyes snapped, and his heels slid down
the mantel right nimbly, and brought up on the fender with
a ring.
“Eh? well, by Jupiter! I thought it was a fixed fact,
and so schooled myself accordingly, Did n’t you, Ed?”
No, ait,”
“You didn’t! Then what did you think, you gipsy, eh?”
“That I received my information from a reliable source,
uncle.”
“Oh, ho! So Agnes let the cat out, and bound you over
to keep mum?”
“No, sir. Agnes never alluded to the subject.”
“ Hallo! — what the deuce!”
He looked from Walter to her, and from her to Walter.
“Well, I’m an old man, but I’ll be hanged if I can read
yet!” and Mr. Redmond made a hasty exit, with a juvenile
step and roguish smile.
Edalia bent over her sewing industriously, and there was

Clements of — by faith, there ’s Charles!

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 165

® long pause. When she looked up she met the young
Man’g deep, earnest eyes riveted half mournfully upon her
face. He started slightly, smiled, and drew out his watch.

« Seven, Edalia; it is time, if you would call for Agnes.”

Di’s nimble fingers speedily performed their accustomed
Office, and they started for the old school-house.

“Are you cold, Edalia?” queried ‘Walter, as they ap-
Proached the establishment of Tomlin memory ; wrapping
her furs around her till she gasped for breath, and peeping
Cunningly under at her half-buried visage.

“No; but I shall be if you go on at this rate! I'll thank
You for a little more air. I hope Mr. Tomlin will be there,
Walter.” |

“So do I, indeed.”

« Tomlin — Tomlin,” repeated Mr. Redmond, who was
Srowing a little deaf, and, consequently, a little more in-
quisitive than formerly, — “what of Tomlin, young ones?
A noble fellow, in the main, but has a termagant wife, I’m
told, and flies to the bottle for refuge.”

“A roofless refuge,” returned Walter, with a sigh.

“So it is, boy —so it is; the frying-pan and the fire; but
thousands of poor wretches have taken the leap, impelled
by domestic discord; and Tomlin, though possessing the
! ?

They stopped mechanically ; and among the crowd gath-
fred beneath the low roof of “ Jones’s Store,” they discerned
Chester,— his face flushed with excitement evidently, — Mr.
Tomlin, Colonel Henley, and Peter Simpkins.

“ Edalia, I must resign you to uncle, Charles must not
Temain here.”

&c y 7 > ap &
Oh, don’t enter that den, Walter,— remember ‘poor
Tray 1?»

He looked down with his beaming blue eyes brimming
With soft and silent eloquence.

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

166 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“And remember Daniel, Edie. I must exercise my
powers of persuasion. Go with uncle, little trembler, and
believe me not too brave to fly from danger.”

He resigned her to Mr. Redmond, with a lingering pres-
sure of the hand that lay upon his arm, and sprang up the
steps, with a happy smile upon his handsome face.

A shout went up from the bacchanal crew within, as the
door closed upon his tall, manly form.

“By Jupiter, here’s a pretty stew!” ejaculated Mr.
Redniond.

“ Why, how you tremble! Are you cold, Ed?”

“Not a bit, sir. But I don’t like this business, uncle.
Walter will stir up this whole nest of vipers by his cold-
water presence, and I fear for the consequences.”

“That ’s a fact, girl. Come round this corner from the
keen air, Ed, and let’s watch the signs of the times through
this loophole of a window. It’s a blasted mean trick this
eavesdropping ; but I’ll be hanged by the ears if I’m
going to leave the boy in this fix! I’m bound to see fair
play, if the odds are against us. There’s Henley — his
animosity is burning for vengeance, and he’ll scruple at
nothing to accomplish his object, and involve him in an
‘affair of honor.’ ‘H-o-n-o-r!’ If he does succeed, by the
beard of Joe Smith, I’1IL—” He doubled up his fist, and
looked at it pugnaciously.

During this effervescence of the old gentleman’s indigna-
tion and solicitude, Edalia was watching anxiously the
gyrations of the motley crew within. She descried Walter
at the farther end of the room in low but earnest conversa
tion with Charles, whose varying countenance betrayed his
mental excitement.

“Gen’lemen,” said the intoxicated and reeling Peter;
“walk up’n lay this unction t’ y’r inner man. Il] stan’
treat. Dum viv’ mus vi’amus, gen’lemen, ’n go to glory wen
we shuf-fle off (hic! ) this mor-mor-tal coil (hic! )”

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY, 167
Mr. Tomlin

cal ny _turned off a surprising quantity of gold-
ored liquid j

with ain n answer to this invitation, smacked his lips
thi is re a the empty tumbler, and made a snake-
dias “ d irection of Charles and Walter. He brought
down heavily upon Charles’s shoulder, and stam-
Mered out:
‘
‘Go long, man,’n no sneakin’! Wall’s right, ’n no

Mistake: £ , : ;
ong for I tell you, fellers, there’s death in the pot, ’n
nO ‘Lisha to tend it!”

Walte ieee ee ae
Valter addressed him in a low, indistinct tone. He

. 5 the young man’s proffered hand, and responded :
but wae t do it, boy, _ can’t do it! I’ll own I ought to;
See the devil got into my pea-patch, an’ pulled up
rp : ; :
Pus gin’, fore the resolutions ripened — raised a rum-
ally, an’ I jest let go the ropes, an’ —an’ ’m goin’
Gane oe to hell in desp'ration | Can't do it, boy, —
“Oh de though, I know you ’re right ! oe ae
tke . cried the insulting Henley. « Go it, Tom!
M Me grindstone for the able disciple of Coke !”
ee ie seoae fingers shut around Edalia’s arm like a
and she taunt. The blood ran icy through her veins,
eld her breath to catch his reply.
ae was livid, but am a muscle moved as he
of hie 0% y; and bowed to the Colonel, with a slight curl
* chiselled lip.

” enley chafed.
- Brayo

all the Vines,

whispered Mr. Redmond, rubbing

“Treat him with silent contempt.

4n prevaileth in power, for he screeneth his bat-
ne; but a fool tilteth headlong, and his enemy

“\ Wise m
terj :
. ng-engi
is aware.’ ”
iu “agged inebriate, in the highest state of spirit-ual feli-
Pian “quared himself in the middle of the aisle, and com-

Need a cip f
ed a circular movement, catching at the bystanders to

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

168 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

preserve a perpendicular posture, when the law of gravila
tion became too powerful for his weak head to resist, and
he sang, jubilantly :

«Old Father Matthew an’ I,
’Ow merry were we,
W’en we sot un’er the June apple t’ee —
Ei’o!
Put ’is ’at on ’is ’ead,
Keep ’is ’ead warm,
An’ take ’nother @ink ’11 do ’im no ’arm —
ne ie ’
Ei fom (hic! )’

He staggered up to the counter, and acted upon the sugge*
tion, — emptied a brimming glass that descended from hié
nerveless hand with a concussion that shivered it to atoms.

The dealer in sundries anathematized the whole race of
bipeds, collectively, at this casualty ; whereupon the offender
struck a pugilistic attitude, but lost his equilibrium, and
disappeared behind the counter, to the terror of numerous
toes that retaliated for their excruciating agonies by well-
directed and hearty kicks at the prostrated flounderer.

““Gen’lemen,” said Peter, “I’m single man, gen’lemel™
or you would n’t see me’n this disrep’table condition. J
know I’m drunk, feller-cit’zens, but I’ve no wife (hie!)
to mourn over my d’plo’able condition ’n ’nfatuation, like
Ches’er yon’er (hic!) I’m free ’n easy bach’lor, gen’leme™
’n the ’njoymen’ of all the ’munities of that f’lic’tous sta
ad livtum. Walk up, cum dign’tate, gen’lemen, ’n drink
the d’liv’rance of all beauteous brides from a drunken
cubus (hic!) I’ll be ’sponsible, gen’lemen.”

Edalia glanced at Charles. His countenance chang®”
rapidly —alternate red and white. Walter grasped his
arm, and they moved toward the door. Mr. Tomlin tol

33

nged

tered after, sputtering words of encouragement to Charl
and Henley sneered.

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 169

M i Tomlin saw them safely shut out, but resisting Wal-
ter’s ‘mportunities to accompany them, he returned to the
Counter,

“T say, Clutchem, it’s all-fired cold out. Give us ’nother
Hee warmer, I’m goin’ to take one good leg-stretcher, an’
then strike a bee-line for purgatory!”

a «ae ‘ j
: Poor Tomlin!” said Mr. Redmond, as they turned away
rom “ Jones’s Store.”

 

CHAPTER XXX.
ALONZO STANHOPE’S VISIT TO BERKSHIRE.

4 HE “ far »’ behind the dilapidated frame house, in
anaes Massachusetts, was seamed with yellow
Ses; and the evening air was redolent with the odor of
hew hay,
The

Fe cows were chewing their cud in the yard, exhaling
1e sce

nt of fresh milk, and the pig was munching and
FPR ET yaicios.

8 ae in its savory pen.

Martha Stanhope, flushed and weary-looking, was prepar-

ing Bs Nas _ : ‘
& the ey ening meal of pork and pickles, cakes and pies —

anc 7 4s . A : .

: t tea; and Silas washing his big feet and brown hands

at the « sink.”
,

. after his day’s labor of haying and milking

vai J Tag

wal done; when the sound of wheels, drawing up at the
ate FES: . _ . . :

~~» provoked him to desist from the process of ablution,

and listen,

Silas « :
Silas « peeked” through the window, and started up very

Suddenly . 3 A s ‘.
lenly » exclaiming with animation:

“Wy
Wall, ef there ain’t ’Lonzo, come up from New Yorick,
Swan!”

15

 

 

 
 

 

 

170 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

He stepped on the towel, and with sundry scrapes and
wriggles, to absorb the wet and avoid tracking the floor, he
hurried from the kitchen out to the gate, with one clean foot
and one dirty, hair standing on end, and suspenders flapping
behind him.

Alonzo Stanhope, another brother of Horace, was a small,
delicate man, with an air of city refinement about him. His
hands and feet were small; his dress a la mode; and his
language pruned of all Yankee provincialisms, His pale
chestnut hair was slightly dusted with years ; his light-blue
eyes had an open, frank expression, and a perpetual smile
sat upon the ingenuous, manly face. His toute ensemble was
that of a man that could be trusted,

Alonzo was a land-broker on Nassau Street, New York,
and doing a prosperous business. There was a striking,
painful contrast between the city gentleman and the country
clown, whose big, hard hand he was shaking so cordially.
Not the slightest resemblance existed between the two
indicative of fraternity, except in stature and the color of
their eyes.

Silas conducted his unexpected visitor into the “keepin’-
room” — which was a large, unfinished apartment, very
plain in its appointments and slender in details,

A home-made carpet, a dozen chairs — noticeable only for
substantiality —a small table supporting a smaller looking-
glass, and a large bed in one corner, made up the inventory
of Silas Stanhope’s “ keepin’-room.”

Martha Stanhope pulled down her calico sleeves over het
red arms, and directing Newton, the oldest boy, to prevent
the feline domestic from depredating upon the table— or
in Martha’s own phraseology, to “keep that narsty cat from
hookin’ his grub!” —she hurried out to the “ keepin’-room.”

“Wall, neow, ef yeou don’t beat all, "Lonzolk— poppin’ ia
‘pon a body without a bit o’ warnin,’ when we hain’t gob

 

y r 171
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

Darthin’ nice enough for city folks! I be glad to see ye,
though. Where ’s Hannah?”

Hannah was Alonzo’s wife.

The city brother replied, that Hannah was partially
Necessitated to remain at home, as Horace was up from
North Carolina, and “stopping” at his house. His face
Was very grave as he communicated this information.
Yankee inquisitiveness was wide awake.

“Yeou don’t say!” ejaculated Silas.

“T want tew know!” cried Martha. “Be his wife along?”

“No!” with a mysterious shake of the head.

Silas and Martha were fully aroused. They looked at
each other intelligently, and back at the sober face from
the city, :

“Screw loose?” suggested Silas.

“Muss?” inquired Martha. “ Dew tell!”

“T don’t clearly comprehend the business myself. Horace
has failed in Carolina, and come on alone. He says his
wife would have accompanied him but for her father’s
threats, of whom she is childishly afraid. But that cistern
don’t hold water, for the law gives a man his wife, and no
©ne can withhold her from him, if she is disposed to follow.
There ’s something behind the face of affairs that I can’t
ferret out. Horace says his wife is devoted to him, but her
father is his foe, for some incomprehensible cause.”

“P’raps Bertha is afraid of losing the old man’s money,”
Suggested Silas,

“Pooh! —all made up by Horace’s pride. Belmont’s
entire Possessions won’t amount to seventeen thousand dol-
lars, and he has two children. Cooley, of the firm of ‘Cooley
& Harman,’ with whom Horace has dealt in carrying on
his business in the South, has recently returned from Wil-
liamsville, and gives an unyarnished statement. Belmont
1S a Yankee himself, and has not wade a fortune in North

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

172 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

Carolina. Horace acknowledges the truth, now, and treats
his deception as a pleasant joke! He’s my brother —and
I’m sorry to say it— but the handsome dog is unprincipled
and shameless! ”

“Them ’s my sentiments, chuck threough! You remember
that saddle, "Lonzo?” said Silas, with an indignant scowl.

Alonzo Stanhope first smiled, then his white, even teeth
shone through his parting lips, and his broadcloth and satin
shook with silent risibility. He neyer laughed aloud.

“Silas “ll never forgive Horace for that Indian gift!”
tittered Martha, shutting her eyes tight as she laughed.

“T had a use for that saddle, an’ Horace owed me more
’n it was worth; an’ I swan tew man, if it wern’t mean!”
said Silas, waxing hot as he thought of his loss.

“That ’s only a fisherman’s luck,” returned Alonzo, try3
ing to suppress his mirthful emotions and look graye.
“He owes me more than I suppose he will ever repay; for
he’s come on without means sufficient to pay his board, and
relies upon his brothers for present aid, I’ve got him into
the store with Allyn, but how long he’ll stay is problemat-
ical. Horace is too erratic and improvident ever to succeed
in business, I’m afraid.”

“Like as not, his wife ain’t as harnsome as he tells,
either,” suggested Martha, now fully sceptical.

“Yes, he told the truth there, for once. It was her rare
beauty that went to his heart —for Horace is deeply in
love with his wife —no question about that ; and I hope his
affection for her will reform him at last. He is evidently
very unhappy, and exceedingly anxious to make money
enough to return to Williamsville and set up business inde-
pendently of her father, whom he hates for reasons not
satisfactory to my mind, as I can gather them. Mr. Cooley
will go South again in September, and I rely upon him for
the whole truth of this strange affair. There’s something

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“ntold, or Horace would not have left his wife, and suffer
80 severely for it as he evidently does.”

“Horace is dreadful jealous - minded — maybe,” — and

Martha left her hearers to fill up the blank.
“That is my fear, from some things that have incidentally
transpired. Horace throws all the blame upon Belmont;
but my impression is, Bertha would hand it over to him.
Tt’s a mixed up mess, anyhow, and one can’t depend upon
Horace for straightforward facts.” git 5

“T said he’d get burnt, when I heard of his marriage,
chimed in Silas, taking it for granted the suggestion was
Correct!” « They say them Southern folks eat fire and spit
1t out regular, when they git riled.”

“ An’ Horace is pooty well calculated tew rile a body’s
temper, if they ’ve got any worth mentionin’ — I swan!”

“Be you certain that Bertha is harnsome as Horace
tells 2” persisted Martha, whose incredulity and woman’s
cu riosity were fully aroused.

“Mr. Cooley bears him out in that assertion. He saw
Bertha after a long illness, and confirms Horace’s declara-
tion, notwithstanding her loss of bloom and vigor. She is
Celebrated for her beauty wherever she is known, and had
* host of suitors when she married, despite her lack of
Wealth, Cooley vows she has the sweetest and most Chien:
Ingly lovely fabe he ever beheld; and her form is faultless.

: “T swan!” said Silas, jerking out one foot to shake down
his pants,

“ Dew tell neow!” echoed Martha, with eyes full of
interest in her Southern sister. “Did n’t Horace paint her
With his tongue, ’Lonzo? — tell us, neow — dew!”

“She has rich brown, modest eyes, that melt and brighten
With every varying emotion; golden- brown curls that
Catch sunbeams in their coils, and dance and ripple over a

dainty lily-fair neck and shoulders, and around a delicate
15%

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

174 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

face, snow-white and modest as a violet. Horace says her
mouth was just made for kissing—small, velvety, and peach-
hued — and if I ever haye an opportunity, I ’ll try it on!”

“Yeou’d better not neow!” warned Martha, as soberly
as though Alonzo were about to execute his threat. “ Horace
will git mad as a March hare, and jealous as a Chinee—
that’s so/”

“Pooh! not of his brother, I guess!”

“Makes no difference who; it’s bred in the bone with
Horace, and can’t come out of the flesh. I never did see
the beat of that boy!” said Silas, on whose ‘ farm’ Horace
had worked.

“Well,” inquired Martha, who was not yet satisfied, “is
she little or large?”

“Child-like in proportions, a little below the medium
height, slender, and willowy as a lily-stem. Horace says
he carries her about in his arms ‘like a doll.’ ”

“Wall, I’d like tew see the child —I swan !” said Silas,
pulling his suspenders over his shoulders and fastening
them in front; “but I have my doubts if she ’ll ever follow
Horace this fur. I’m afraid he’s got crooked down there,
an’ never’ll git straightened eout. How about suppers
mother ?”

“Good land, if I didn’t forgit! And jest as like as not,
Newt ’s gone, and the cat’s took the table and cleaned the
cubberd ! ”

“And I’m hungry as a bear,” laughed Alonzo, as she
hurried away.

Martha Stanhope found her tired boy fast asleep beside
the baby’s cradle, and old Tabby lord of the tea-table, and
lapping the cream to his thirsty heart’s content.

“Git eout! s’boy! shu!” shouted Martha, clapping her
hands and stamping her feet furiously, — forgetting, in her
excitement, the usual word of command to a feline offender:

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY, 175

Old Tabby cleare
his ese
and

1 the room at two bounds, and made
ape through a rear window, with very straight tail
tind care, and aera aoe Bis speed till he at-
and licked erat iy the “stunheap, where he sat down
at-hinivaf oy sth —T complacently, looking back. defiance
Hy . u mistress, who shook her fist and sent shrill
Nee as after him from his point of egress. ;

his eae, spaced roused by the hubbub occasioned by

rE: a 2 ag 6% comprehending the unwholesome state
Maids be ae circumstances at one startled glance, he

S escape through the back-door on all fours, before

Martha’

artha’s re;

ti ‘8 ready hand could reach his ears as a “constitu-
nal amendment,”

of 8s

 

CHAPTER XXXI.
mie,
THE DOVE HAS RETURNED TO THE ARK.”

Wc are By
ONDER if Charles is going to that meeting?” mut-
ere ; ; :
me Mr. Redmond, incredulously, as they hurried
arc " ° ° ‘

the hall of convention, where they arrived — accom-

Panied
mirns 4 by Agnes —a moment before Walter and Charles
"red, ar i ©
mh arm in arm,
ley statione
ately in fr
every

tow

d themselves on a vacant bench, immedi-
ont of Mr. Redmond’s party —Charles w aring
i eee of a culprit going to execution.

the PS 2 say produced a universal commotion among
. ., ? Surprise and curiosity became visible in each
@miliar with the young man’s previous course.

ner Sts p 1 i
ae vous start and happy flush indicated the amazement
* pleasure of Agnes.

aCe f

 

 
 

 

176 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

Walter turned and bestowed upon Edalia a glance of
triumph from his bright, glad eyes.

A thrilling discourse was delivered by an elderly man
with long flowing hair and slightly bowed form, whose
personal experience was the most prominent and touching
feature.

He told of the high hopes of early manhood — of a fair
and gentle girl who plighted her troth with him at the holy
altar; whose love, like the green vine around the forest-
oak, blossomed through storms asin sunshine. He depicted
his downward tendency from the pedestal of dignity and
joy to the dark abyss of degradation and woe— only
awaking from his lethargy to miss, forever, the soothing
hand upon his brow of her whom he had destroyed! She
slept in the quiet churchyard, the innocent victim of the
simoom of Intemperance !

Symptoms of restlessness were manifest in Charles during
the exordium, but the peroration found him with chin rest-
ing upon his hand, and dark eyes riveted wildly upon the
speaker.

The orator closed with the admonition :

“Man — made in the image and likeness of God! Man,
fallen and degenerate man! By the memory of the mother
who watched over your wayward and helpless infancy, and
who, perchance, slumbers now in silence and shade, wher?
no word from her warning lips can come to plead with het
darling boy, to stay his steps from ruin and wretchednesss
by the memory of the glad and girlish bride whose tendet
arms entwined you in manhood’s fair morn, ere the dark
clouds of sorrow and desolation rose from the death-sea of
intoxication, and rolled over the sunny horizon of yout
peaceful and prosperous years, raining destruction up0?
your Eden of life and love; by the helpless ones, whos?
onward way in this world of strife will be darkened by you!

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 177

Shadow,

or bri ne 7 your beams i
te, ghtened by your beams; and by the still

all voice that whi

the blue sky,

spers in the winds and the waves, in
and the green earth:

‘It is not all of life to live,
Nor all of death to die,’ —
arouse from y
With which G
1eart’
tomb

our apathetic slumber, and exercise the powers
; od has endowed you, ere the last bud of your
8 Joy and pride falls from your side to the voiceless
in Ki aa awake, too late, and go forth a lone wanderer
malian” é ray. of life, with BEMORSE written upon your
Hie — alone — like your speaker !’
length Bene te ae we yrs hush that succeeded was at
Walter ren ah . a. atc of the official tem bere.
He fer hy per a edge and presented it to Charles.
his "a - é . 7 y and undecisively a moment, put forth
flush Bie Niet it, but drew it back quickly, and a deep
Spread his face,
alter sat

WwW
and Spoke fast
Eda};
“dalis ow C
genes nt grew cold with suspense, and the brown eyes of
shes: look icy eit 3 ,
f; oked icy. Charles sat like a stoic — stately and

rig} 1
61d, s hs Dad : : :
form,” He had once said: “It is easier to resist than to re-

down, laid his arm over Charles’s shoulder,
and earnestly.

(77 Gave it
Son of the
hard,
Jare

to me, Misther Eldon,” said a weather-beaten
Esc he eae a rich brogue, reaching his
and across Charles, and drawing his thread-
Pay, Fyre across his watery eyes; — “ be the powers,
likes ‘3 Ay » yer honor. Mike Murphy can’t stan’ the
. iat, yer worship. Be the memory o’ me ould
dead and gone—the houly Mary rest ’er
*—I'll make a clane breast of it, yer honor, an’ the

Whigs tay
key may go to the divil — faith!”
He

Sei > De i i
zed the paper, and wrote his name in large, round
M

 

 

 
 

 

 

178 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY,

characters, with a big bright tear rolling slowly down 4
deep furrow in his careworn cheek,

Charles’s stern features relaxed, as he looked upon this
drop of affection to the memory of a lost mother, warm from
the heart of this old time-tossed mariner on life’s rough
sea; he received it from his brown, toil-hardened hand, and
traced his own name beneath with tremulous fingers.

Mr. Redmond grasped a hand of each with a vigorous
shake, and a “Bravo, by Jupiter!”

Charles drew himself up, with a long respiration, as though
relieved of an oppressive burden, and a faint smile flitted
over his features.

Agnes laughed, with the round tears sparkling in het
young eyes, like dewdrops in spring sunshine; while Edalia’s
face was hidden from view; and Walter went through the
crowd with a firm, proud step, and quiet smile upon his ra
diant face.

As they retired from the room, Edalia observed het
uncle cast a searching, eager glance back upon the oratol
of the evening, with a melancholy expression in his wistful
eye. Mr. Redmond’s face had the seeming of one living
the past, oblivious of the present, as he turned from that
searching gaze at the stranger’s countenance, and Edali#
knew he sighed softly as they passed out of the old school
house.

“Go in first, Edalia,” begged Charles, as they arrived a
the door of Minnie’s apartment. She obeyed.

Minnie stood bending over the cherub form of littl?
Charlie, fast asleep in his cradle-bed, with one chubby a!”
thrown backward, and nestling among the short, golde#
curls of his cunning little head, peeping brightly out fro
its snug, warm nest, “a thing of beauty,” and “a joy fo
ever,” to the pale watcher beside it.

* Minnie dear, the Dove has returned to the Ark!”

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 179

te can een and heart-broken wife looked at her

Charle y, till comprehending the blissful r ality, as

“ es entered smiling, she sprang forward with a low,

8 ~ bid and fainted in his clasping arms.

oe ae - more joy over one sinner that repenteth, than
inety and nine just persons that need no repentance,’”

Said Walta : 3
‘a W alter, as they went from the happy pair to Mr. Red-
ond’s bachelor home.

 

CHAPTER XXXII.

iT?
A IT > ATAT y
3AD J ENNY SURE TO COME BACK.” — BITTER MO-

MENTS. — BERTHA SEES “A FACE,”

TANHOPE ’*S come!”
A little chill

‘i crept from Bertha’s bounding heart, and
4n frost

face ag through her frame, as Mr. Belmont, with sober
en . nd slightly vexed tone, made the sudden announce-
nt.

‘
‘ Pa !” was all she said.
Now we shall have it, ad nauseam,” continued Mr.
» growing indignant, as he thought of the past, and
> 1 y o .

a seals Beige ay Me Stanhope has no fear of God or
ala te Me pad no Teputation to lose in this community,
ihe in he moi spirit will do its worst to foment disturb-
Pigs ia heads As Job said of the ~ of his birth,
numbered y ~ the day you married him: ‘Let it not be

vith the days of the year’!”

Mr. Belm

Wein a ont at last realized fully his great error and
1g ; A Fi Liste P .
aici : In Influencing his daughter to unite her destiny with
of w t - 4
Whom she knew nothing and cared less. He knew

 

 
 

 

 

180 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

it was all the work of his own hands, and yet he set his
wits to work to obviate the calamity of seeing his only and
idolized daughter go forth from the safe shelter of his roof
with the worthless husband he had chosen.

It was a bitter reflection to the erring old man, now that
he feared for the future.

“T only hope he won’t remain long in this section,” he
proceeded, as he walked the floor restlessly, and speculated
upon the result of Stanhope’s wiles to win his wife away:
“If the fellow had gone to Ballyhack, we might have lived
in peace ; but now we shall have crocodile tears, Pharisai¢
prayers, and promises strong as Goliath in seeming, but
fragile as a pipe-stem in reality. I know the man!”

“Well,” after a long pause, and silent pondering as. his
firm feet traversed the apartment, “I have no authority to
control you now, my child ; but if you suffer yourself to be
deluded, and actuated by false promises and apparent
penitence, I feel confident, from my knowledge of the man’s
principles, you will see the day you will regret your weak
ness in relying upon one so base!”

Bertha went up to her chamber and sat down by the
window, where six months ago she had asked herself if she
was sad, for that Horace Stanhope was far away ; and
shrank, half afraid, from the feeling answer. Now she
asked her heart if it was glad because Horace Stanhope
had returned, and Bertha could not define the feelings that
ebbed and flowed in her searching soul.

His handsome face and fond unkindness (Bertha could
only translate it thus) rose up vividly before her young
vision, and she smiled. Then his dishonesty and falsehoods
his atheism, his jealous tyranny, stood out in full and for
midable proportions, and her fair brow contracted with im
ward pain and foreboding.

“Tf he were only a Christian,” she said, mentally, “how

 

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 181

I could love him! He is my husband, I am his wife; bound
together as one for all time. God only can sever the cord
that binds us for weal or for woe. Perhaps his experience
from long absence has taught him wisdom, Perhaps,” —
and Bertha sat still, with a little icy ripple skimming the
Surface of a warming sea of thought.
E Ah, when Bertha had reached the “ perhaps,” in reason-
ng with herself of her unworthy husband, there was no
“nger security for her strength of will against future
events,

if Perhaps he has reformed, for ‘with God all things are
Possible,’ and we shall live happily together,’ was what
Bertha had left unsaid; for secret belief conflicted with
thought and yearning wish, and hope could not give birth
to Words,

nd will wait and see,” was the conclusion to her long
. ain of thought awakened by Horace Stanhope’s sudden
advent in startled Williamsville, —“and let coming events
— the die for my destiny. I wonder if he expects me to
return with him to New York. I will wait and see.”

And she waited, but not long.

The quiet town of Williamsville was soon alive with the
“Urprising story that “ Yankee Stanhope, the handsome

rase; . . ‘
cal, had opened a full store on Main Street, and was

doing

tr

finely, — owned a splendid ‘fast horse,’ and sported
x TO servant, and carried things with the air of a nabob.”
Bertha smiled, quietly, but made no comments, as did her
sia Considerate father ; but she was equally as sceptical.
ie ‘Il bet any amount he ’1l fail in less than five months,”
Said fearful Mr. Belmont — fearful for the effect of Stan-

a Nee

hope’s a : i P
] -Pe’s proximity to his. daughter, and unavoidable views of
lis )

Il w

his n;

andsome and seemingly repentant face. ‘ Moreover,
ager he don’t own one dollar of all that goes under

‘me; and, like as not, he ’ll get into jail for the ‘fine
16

 
 

 

182 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY,

business’ he’s doing. I pity the fellow that trusted him—
that’s all! Well, if he’ll steer clear of me and mine, he
may go scot-free, so far as I’m concerned. I’ve had enough
of him for one lifetime.’ And Mr. Belmont tossed &
tobacco-quid behind the back log, and glanced slyly at
Bertha to observe her expression,

“Pity but you had thought so from the beginning, pa.”

“Yes, child; but I never was so deceived in a man in all
my born days— hang me, if it ain’t so!”

Mr. Belmont hitched in his easy-chair, nervously, and
expectorated freely in the direction of the discarded quid.

“And now it is too late to repent,” said Bertha, as she
turned away.

“Hey?” interrogated the old man; but no reply came,
for the speaker had passed out; and it was long before she
sat there again.

“T’ll be hanged if I like that!” said the doubting father
to Mrs. Belmont, — “ it has n’t the right sound for safety! I
question if the girl don’t trust to the villain’s promises and
make-believe penitence, and run off with the rascal. And
the next we know he’ll switch her away to New York, and
break her heart with jealous cruelty, or starve her to death
with his poverty ; for the fellow ain’t worth shucks, nohow!
Bertha is a good girl, but too easily led by kindness ; and
the mischief of it is, she can’t discern the counterfeit from
the current article. She ought to know, by this time, how
little reliance is to be placed upon his honor. Well, she
won't go with my consent—that’s settled. I’m really
fearful the scoundrel will commit some desperate act i2
secret, and claw out by attributing it to accident. -I don’t
believe her life is safe in his hands—he’s so infernally
jealous!”

While Mr. Belmont’s fears were thus finding vent i2
anxious words, Bertha was going with triumphant Horacé

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 183

Stanhope to the “pleasant room” he had “prepared for
her”

Horace had smuggled touchingly beautiful penitent let-
ters, brimful of fondest love and solemn promises and pious
Sentiments, into her hand, and thrown himself in her way on
onary Possible occasion, with loving reproach in his sadly
Smiling blue eyes, and soft snatch-kisses upon her little
white hand, until Bertha was subjugated by her husband’s
Perseverance and tender pleading; and she said to her
heart :

“T can but try. It is my duty to do all in my power to
render him happy, now that I am his wife. I shall love
him, if he will let me; I believe I love him now, he is so
handsome and tender. He looks changed,— perhaps we
Shall do well. I will trust to him,”

And so Bertha passed from her father’s presence down
the old garden to the back gate, where Horace Stanhope

“Waited her; and the exulting husband bore her off in
triumph,

Bertha left her home secretly, to avoid the excitement of
a * 7 : ,
“1 Open departure. She was so delicately constituted that

Menta] «: : ; ; ;
*ntal stimulation racked her head with torturing pain.

And hence, her past life with Horace Stanhope had robbed
_ of Vivacity and bloom. She was now healthful and
Tilliantly beautiful, as in the days of his courtship; and
Torace Stanhope’s loving but depraved heart burned with
elon desire to get possession of his bewitching lovely
vatee. wife. And so elated was he with his rept in
ihe g awe ee, > rap? ag a 3 ga.
eh etn it from the ol — ‘ poe a
aga Pressed it—that full seven days pound pee :
Y away before the shadow of a cloud appeared in their
“omestic horizon; which was an unprecedented event in
their “onnubial life; for not one week had passed, after their
Marriage, before Horace Stanhope humbly apologized for

 

 
 

oe <a NR PO aR

-

SE ce cnt

184 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

some freak of his unfortunate disposition, that shook up the
tears to the brown eyes of his beautiful young bride.

Bertha was beginning to feel that a change, radical and
permanent, had been wrought in her husband during his long
absence, and bright hope for the future shone in the zenith
of her matrimonial sky, when a sudden storm-cloud swooped
up from the low horizon, and obscured the golden beams.
Then she said: “It is vain to hope!”

Our heroine had not returned to her home since the day
she went out from it with victorious Horace Stanhope ; but
now, in answer to her mother’s message, she was preparing
for a visit, when her watchful lord entered the chamber.

“ Where now, Bertha?”

“ Down home, — ma has sent for me.”

“ Home! Is not this your home, Bertha?”

“You know what I mean, Horace. Ma is not well, and
wishes to see me.”

“And J wish you to decline the invitation. Which will
you obey?”

“Mr. Stanhope! ”

“ My wife, which will you obey?”

Bertha sank upon the bedside, unable to sustain her frail
form under the sudden shock. This was the heaviest blow
she had yet received. To refuse a sick mother’s request was
more than her filial affection could endure with composure.
She reflected a moment.

“Why do you wish me to decline?”

“You should not desire to visit those whom you know are
your husband’s bitterest enemies.”

“And why are they not your friends?” — Bertha’s spirit
was rising.

“ That is neither here nor there — they are not my friends.”

“But they are my friends, Mr. Stanhope, and my parents.
If they are not yours, it is no fault of theirs — you know thab

 

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 185

It wi
Wl . ’
3 ll be unnatural for me to refuse a sick mother” —
She orew yp;
Brew pale at the thought,
We sh j

away f all never live in peace, Bertha, until you are
away fr a3
. J trom them. We have been happy together since your

Ourse has :
al ‘Tie has been suspended. If they would leave you
“one with m ,

Unkindne

Intere

me, you would have no cause to complain of
i a “sing ve husband ; for you know you sea dearer
ae 1an the life-blood that nourishes it.’
hoes “a 08 around her now, and the old soothing soft-
htsaae us tone and heavenly-blue eyes.
leas op sre strong struggle in her soul, between filial
since she e y duty. It is true, they had lived quietly
the Se 1er home; but Bertha had been shut out from
since she returned to Horace Stanhope, and his
ad nothing to feed upon.
cata her toa little, dark, unwholesome room in
dias a “ me otiahment, from which she had not emerged
mitting « eft her father 8 roof, and guarded her with unre-
: 8 > trusting to the honesty of a negro servant dur-
aster’s absence from the store.
ad lived peacefully, thus; but now that she was
disappear from his watchful eyes a little while, and
to the free air once more, the clouds gathered
is Pine else Horace — was jealous of his wife’s
he had, pris — and brother! Bertha knew that, for
night Pei 8 a seengsa her to receive her father $ good-
she bia F ei said that now she was a married woman
had Re — such a childish custom. And Bertha
Peace that ae his arbitrary will, for the sweet sake of
US require ever came; for there were no limits to his jeal-
ements,

They }
about to

0 out
aboy

is ertha thought it
around her, her he

“Teas a
fast, and his hand
16 *

all over, as she sat there, with his arms
ad upon his idolizing but torturing
smoothing back the brown curls from

 

 
 

 

 

186 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY,

her beautiful but sorrowful young face. She knew he loved
her, and she knew, also, that his love was the Upas of her
life! But she would yield, so long as yielding could insure
peace, without conflicting with a higher law.

“Will you obey me, Bertha?” —he knew she would,
without the query; for Bertha’s face mirrored her soul as
clearly as a glass the object before it. Horace Stanhope
had learned to read that face as easily as a simple sentence
in English —he knew how far to presume, and when to
repent; but in his rage, when the serpent bit him with
unusual severity, he often overstepped the bounds of pru-
dence, and brought a heavy rain with him when he came
back.

“Tt is very hard, but I will not go, unless — ”

“Unless what, dear?”

“Unless ma should grow worse. If her indisposition in-
creases, you will not object ?”

“Oh, no danger of that. It’s only a ruse to get you
there! I’ll bet my head the old woman is well enough !”
and he went out, smiling and rejoicing over his victory.

She could not help it—the thought came without any
volition of will —it was the first feeling of a like character
that had troubled her since their reunion ;— but Bertha
thought, as she looked after his retiring form, he would have
to bet something of more value, if he would tempt her to
take it!

To hear her loving and loved mother, now sick and suf
fering from her absence, thus coolly and contemptuously
spoken of, burned our spirited heroine, and she hastily re-
pented of her promise to the unfeeling, exacting man.

“He merited no consideration — he was unworthy of re-
spect,” she said, impulsively ; but remembering the words;
“Wives, be obedient to your husbands; even as Saralt
obeyed Abraham, calling him lord,” —gshe crushed dow!

 

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 187

the bitte
Berth

love E

T waters, and tried to evoke a better spirit. But
% Sat there, and thought of her dear mother’s tender
} ind sickness, and her own unhappy situation, in being
eaven - bound to yield obedience to a jealous tyrant,
until her soul died within her; and she felt if God
Would take her out of the world she could go without a
Struggle,

It was a bitter moment — full of conflicting passions, dis-
cust, and yearning to break the fetters that bound her in

link ns
} . of ‘ron. Then a face rose up before her, and deepened
ter disgust

and loathing and remorse —the same face her
Mournfy] e

yes had seen when she looked beyond the low

row i |
Wii hisises with the long piazza back into the years, and
Stood in the

1; spring sunshine of her fourteenth year. It was
a lic: p
® living se

had ears, Oe buried deep in her silent heart. Her father
wits an ne vetween them then, and now it was wrong for the
with its orace Stanhope to dwell in faney upon that face,
» Spiritual eyes and intellectual brow, where

Tt a Big honor were legibly written by God’s own fingers.
.  ~ Passed away from the low brown house with the long
ee gen but left a-deathless memory in her youthful heart
‘At-none had ever suspected. She knew it had vainly tried
£0 return

Ber
3: tha wondered if the mild spiritual eyes yet beamed, and
1€ noble

Pee Been by hers, if her shrinking soul had been stronger
1e dear departed days!
lines the memory of that face that had shielded her
[r. R n after-years, and covered her with confusion when
oe Redmond spoke of love, —it was that living remem-
- “nce of what might have been, and what might yet be,
‘at made her shrink from Horace Stanhope and plead for

a rele. om g ie i ;
i elease, She saw that face distinctly, and felt it would
‘aunt her

» and then it was lost among the rolling years; and

brow was caressed by fairy fingers, as it would

Tt was

future years, when she wrote Edalia:

 

 
 

 

188 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY,

“T cannot divest myself of the indefinable feeling, that the
life of ‘ Bertha the Beauty ’ will be a wreck! ”

She strove to put the memory from her after her mar-
riage, but it would be felt in hours of struggling such as she
now endured; and the mild spiritual eyes looked through
the years that were gone, with living reproach for her weak-
ness in yielding to a lover’s fondness and a father’s will,
against the secret convictions of her own heart and con-
science,

 

CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE HIDDEN HEART. — EDALIA IS AGONIZED,

| O you know, Walter, my boy, that Wilmer the Lecturer
has purchased and taken possession of your grand-

father’s old homestead ?

Walter Eldon’s face became as colorless as the rose-bud
that Edalia had playfully pinned to his coat-collar; he
dropped his arms upon the table, and exclaimed:

“Ts it possible?”

“Fact, boy. I’ve just done up the business to the satis-
faction of all the parties concerned, and seen the new pro-
prietor legally installed. And the marvel is, Wilmer paid
down thirty thousand dollars in El Dorado gold for the
landed estate, accumulated, he informed me, by three years’
delving in the mines of California. Great place that for
Indians, reptiles, and Achan wedges — by Jupiter! ”

Walter sat musing, with his eyes resting upon his fingers,
that unconsciously beat a noiseless tattoo upon the table.

“ Y-e-s, sir,”

 

>
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 189

He rousec

Lup from his revery, pushed back his chair, and
Continued, y

vith a face of calm decision :
: “A. more propitious moment I could not avail myself of,

hides to apprise you of a design I have in contemplation.
The Steamer leaves New York for San Francisco at
An -early day, and it is my purpose to procure a passage
to that western port.” 4

Mr, Redmond started back aghast, and brought his fist

upon the table with a violence that astonished the

Crockery and glassware.

“Con-fusion ! Go to that t’other-side-of-creation country,
Where the finest fun is twirling the tomahawk around your
Scalp, and the wolves snap at your hair under the miner’s
Canvas | Nonsense, boy — nonsense ! I say you shan’t do
ae by Jupiter!”

“ But, sir ere

our sainted mother bequeathed you to
© and guidance, and I have endeavored to perform a
: ul part by her orphan boy. There are no ties of con-
 oguinity that render obligatory upon you any act of obe-
“lence to me, You are now free to will and to do as your
Melination prompts; but with my consent you will never
TTY. into effect this wild project. Have I failed in my
“uty to the dead and the living, boy, that you wish to desert
me, now that the sun is almost set and the night is closing
Tound 2»
Walter's eyes moistened, He started up, and, leaning

er the old man’s chair, laid his arms upon his shoulders,
and Said, tre

€¢ XY °
No, sir;

Ce

faithfy

Ov

mulously :

you have ever been to me a friend and a father.
‘in never repay your manifold kindnesses and munifi-
“ence ; but my deep sense of the gratitude I owe you is only
“qualled by that I feel. But —”

“Pp

But what, boy?” He drew Walter’s arms over, and

 

 
 

 

 

Sle ee hn Renn EE

190 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

crossed them upon his breast. “Speak out, sir; let’s have
an eclaircissement,”

“ But, as you say, sir, there are no ties of consanguinity to
entitle me to further munificence; and now that you have
laid the foundation, it behooves me to rear the structure by
my own individual exertions.”

“And ain’t you doing it, sir? Why, how much work
have you accomplished since the old judge licensed you to
labor? IT’ faith, youll have a famous structure in five
years, boy.”

“ Five years! ”

“Eh? you deprecate the period! Five years at your
age isn’t an eternity, boy. Why this impatience to be rich
speedily ?”

Walter’s face crimsoned as he turned slowly away, and
replied :

“That, sir, I must withhold even from you.”

A vigorous knock at the door announced a visitor, and
interrupted the discussion. They adjourned to the parlor.
Di entered with the information that Mr. Simpkins desired
a private interview with Mr. Eldon. Walter led the way to
the office.

“ What the deuce is on the docket now?” grumbled Mr.
Redmond, as he paced the room with rapid strides.

“Girl, you’re white as that curtain! You sympathize
with my apprehensions. That Simpkins isa bird of ill ome
I feel a presentiment of evil. I’ve foreseen it for months—
that Henley! Yes, yes, there’s mischief before the court}
but don’t be scared, Ed, — hang me, if I don’t blow this
plot sky-high in a twinkling!”

He touched the bell, and dispatched John with a message
to Walter.

“ Boy,” as the young man answered the summons, ‘ you
can now cancel every debt of gratitude that you think due

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 191

me, as

dénos your guardian from infancy, by one act of confi-

ig .
«ge As hat is the purport of this secret transaction ?”
Sir yas , : ;
» t have received a challenge from Colonel Henley.”
’ I— monster!” breathed Mr. Redmond hoarsely

8 clenched teeth.

Y coldness crept over Edalia. She stole silently
© Toom, and ascended the stairs as swiftly as her

Neryoy _

8 att new

Bat temperament would permit. She entered her cham-
‘Tr and secured the door.

Alone

her; nih dhe thoughts and feelings crowded around
along the Rey Ts about her heart, then leaping wildly

She rte: Mee robbing channels of life.
Meeknesg ite ve proud, intrepid spirit; combined with the
earlessness a gentleness of a dove, he possessed firmness and

eat nee
eed gts - bette Henley p She doubted it not! Who 80
fais fame . mA meter sensitive on all points touching his
Worldly es - by any act : moral courage brand it in a
Paul, a reciting the term “ coward ” ? fake the Apostle

The wile ae after the manner of men. ott
Upon’ the “ Tushed hotly to her brain, She sank dizzily

Cor and pressed her burning brow upon the

2 ab of her dressing-table.

; She knelt, the past, with all its various phases, moved
Ne Asay aes broad and varied panorama of life’s
tive to Pa The bright-eyed, buoyant boy, ever atten-
8o] ightest. wish — her unappreciative soul — the

atful youth, breathing farewell for years, with
and a half uttered thought upon his pale lips

cked a
rm-} and frozen by her smiling coldness — the proud,
learted m
Sorrow |

An ic

from th

ch

ffectually, till wholly liquefied and lost in
4m of his own life and love!

 

 

 
 

192 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

And now fancy pictured the battle-field; the noble form
extended upon the damp ground in the agonies of death !—
dying, unconscious that two lives are ebbing away beneath
the murderer’s exulting eye!

Edalia sprang up and wandered around the room in un
utterable anguish. She caught her reflection in the broad
mirror, as she paced the chamber, and stopped in mute
wonder and fascination.

The face was marble-white and rigid, and the blue veins
lay in threads upon the temples, pulsing wildly and hotly:
Mortal pallor surrounded the slightly parted lips; dark,
heavy circles encompassed the flashing black eyes; and the
long loose curls hung in midnight masses over the snowy
robe and livid face, like a cloud of woe.

Tears would have been a relief—a luxury ;— but the
fierce flame that surged through her heart and brain dried
up the liquid fountain-waters ; and pressing her hand upo?
the scorched and thirsty lids, she leaned over the golden let
ters glittering upon the white shell, and another memory
swept over her.

She had observed in Walter’s chamber an elegant volum@
well worn; and on the fly-leaf was traced in delicate chr
rography :

“Eva Epon.
A Mother's dying Gift to her darling boy.”

3 neath was written, in bold characters:

“‘ Word of the everliving God,
Will of His glorious Son,
Without thee, how could earth be trod,
Or Heaven itself be won.”

And the simple word “ Mother” betrayed the author.

And as Edalia leaned, now in tearless agony, a pencille

 

BERT THE
ERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 2
Passage there
Tesponse in hy
“ce Thee
Whithe

die, ang
more

iN arose nia * :
trose to her mental vision, and found a deep

T wretched heart:
r thou

1 there will I be buried.
also, if ay

goest, I will go; where thou diest, I will
The Lord do so to me, and
ght but death part thee and me.”

 

CHAPTER XXXI V.
THE «
FACE” pr
CR REPROACHES BERTHA. — GREEN- EYES

: DEFEATE D, — CLAUDE BELMONT,
YE Ik face look
i at Bertha
10W Weak she
that Would
Misery
Gaye.

ed up through the years sadly reproachful
» 48 she sat there on the bedside and thought
had been in yielding to others in a matter
g affect her whole future life, for happiness or
s e ele isa in haast since: that fatal
ae 0 suffer and be strong.
yearned to re
Stanho

y

call the words that bound. her to
4 pe for all time, or till death; yearned with
‘ng that grew to keenest pain, as she realized her
the fullest extent. How firm, how brave she
; ite. refusing her father’s chosen — now that it
She hana onths too late !

be Witho 1rown away her life; for what would the future
ut love? She had thought to-love him, through

; but how could she love one whom she

)

be ;
Was

lig
Is Own ger sat love
Cc ;
auld not respect ?

She }
lad ton 3 : eae
deceived » trusted to her father, blinded by prejudice and

nat ‘ re :
Should y show, and he had led her into lifelong woe. She

lay tie ane
that ‘ve been braver and stood firm, in the conviction
Be, Marriage y

In God’s * 7

17

vith Horace Stanhope would be a mockery

ght ; — stood firm in refusing to syllable with her
N

 

 
 

 

 

 

194 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

lips a vow that her whole heart could not utter. How will-
ingly would she now risk his displeasure, and even be cast
out from his home for disobedience, could she but be relieved
of the great sin-burden and soul-pain of being an unloying,
disgusted, hopeless wife !

Sitting there lamenting the great weakness that had
wrecked her life; mourning for the suffering mother, whom
she was forbidden to see by a tyrant to whose power fate
had fastened her forever, the deep ery of her struggling
spirit was: “ When — oh, when will it end!”

Seriously, was it her duty to submit to such tyranny, and
by yielding to injustice and heartless cruelty render wretched
one whose love for her was deathless and pure?—she asked
herself. Then the solemn words of. the marriage ritual,
“ And forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long
as you both shail live,” came over her troubled conscience,
She had sealed her own doom in assenting to those words,
and there was no escape now. The path of duty was plainly
marked out before her, and though thorny and sunless, she
must walk the cheerless way.

“T will try !—TI will try!— and God help me!” was the
great cry of that bruised and blighted youthful heart.

And she did.

Bertha took up the monotonous thread of her daily life,
and the weary hours went on.

Horace Stanhope watched her truthful face, and chided
her for every shade that settled in her brown eyes. Could
she have been free from his scrutiny and constant reproaches
for the effect produced by his own tyranny, life would have
been less wearisome.

“Stanhope won’t suffer his wife to visit her mother, and
the consequences are unfavorable to her present state of
health,” said Dr. Burnell, as he walked the hotel piazza,
with sober eyes.

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 195

“Stanhope is the greatest Yankee rascal that ever mar-
ried a Southern wife,” replied Major Watson, the proprietor
of the hotel. “The Lord knows, he only merits a piece of
hemp, well twisted, for a cravat!—that fact is pretty well
known hereabouts. Anything worse in Mrs. Belmont’s case,
doctor?”

“Yes; I called in Dr. Whiteley this morning, and we con-
sulted together. I won’t take the responsibility of acting
alone—the symptoms are bad; and unless her daughter is
permitted to visit her, I won’t answer for the result; mind
and body are both disordered. I have advised Mrs. Stan-
hope, through her brother, of her mother’s situation, and I
hardly think she can be restrained by her villanous lord.

3ut she ’s nothing but ware, in stronger hands, or she would
not now be in that tyrant’s power. If she were my sister,
I’d break his head before he does her heart, by George! ”

“ Belmont threatens to shoot him, if he ever puts foot on
his premises again ; and the rascal could n’t do his wife and
the world a greater favor and service than by tempting the
old man to perform his vow! I’m blest, if he ain’t too
mean to live, and the whole community knows it. From
his appearance he might have been cut out for a gentleman,
but he was mortally ugly made up! Why, sir, he has no
more soul or shame than this pipe I’m smoking — fact!”

“We all know him pretty thoroughly by this time, I
‘guess.’ (Dr. Burnell was a native of New Jersey, and a
little touched with Yankeeism in his language, but not in
mechanism.) | And how well she might have married, with
her beauty and accomplishments! She was the sweetest-
looking sick woman I ever had the privilege of attending,
and I thought him the most devoted husband the world
ever saw, for the fellow never left the bedside when I was
about. I comprehend now some little circumstances that
transpired during my attendance, that were passed by at the

 

 

 

 
 

196 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY,

time — the rascal was jealous of his wife’s physician! I
see it all now.”

“TI should like to know of whom the fool is n’t jealous —
that’s all! It matters not if he’s old or young, married or
single — it’s all one to the scoundrel, if he looks admiringly
at Bertha, There’s Harry Herbert —as honest a youth as
ever said a prayer — says Bertha has n’t spoken to him in
twelve months, and —”

“Herbert like to have gone mad after her marriage, and
I suppose Green-Eyes has learned the fact.”

“ Herbert seems to understand it now, but it hurt him at
first. I only wish the man she’s got was half as honorable
as the one she didn’t have —that’s all! Ifa girl is to
shun all her old beaux after her marriage, and hate every-
body but her husband, I say she’d better take the veil in
some convent, and die an old maid! ”

“Hum!” said the doctor, as he turned on his heel and
strode indignantly away.

Bertha had hoped to secure peace by yielding to her hus-
band’s requirements; but she found it was not to be obtained
on such terms. Harry Herbert was an especial object of his
jealousy, notwithstanding she had faithfully performed her
promise with reference to him. Horace Stanhope was con-
tinually maligning his character, and commenting upon his
daily deportment; for what purpose, she at length divined ;
his base soul could not be satisfied of her indifference, with-
out proof in harsh words of one whom she could not but
respect. Bertha’s sense of honor and justice could not con-
descend to gratify him there, and sly insinuations respecting
secret affection for him at length grew to open accusations.
Bertha’s curling lip beat him back from further encroach-
ments. Profane words closed the scene, and Stanhope’s
heels rang along the floor, as he made a hasty exit to cool
down his rising temper.

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 197

Bertha found that peace with Horace Stanhope was not
to be obtained on any terms. She had passed coolly a kind
and Christian friend, to disarm his jealousy; she had left
her home, to gratify him; she had refused a sick mother’s
request to test the effect of entire separation from her family,
to whom he attributed the cause of their unhappiness in the
past; and yet their present life had become as restless and
inharmonious as the past had been. She resolved to do her
duty to all in the future, pursue a straightforward course
as conscience might direct, and leave the consequences to
Him, who, “for human weal, husbands all events.”

“Ma is very ill, sis. Dr. Burnell says he won’t answer
for the consequences, if you don’t come home immediately.”

Claude Belmont was standing at Bertha’s window, with
deep concern upon his young face.

Bertha started to her feet, spasmodically.

“Ts ma worse?”

“Yes; and I don’t believe the doctor has much hope of
her ever being better,” — his lips shut tightly.

“Qh,” Bertha wrung her small, child-like hands, “I
thought she was improving — Horace told me so!”

“ Horace is a lying knave!” thundered Claude, whitening
With wrath at the sound of the name.

“Sh! sh!” said Bertha, glancing furtively at the door.

“T don’t care a snap!” cried Claude, crossing his thumb
and finger with a rousing report. “Satan’s a saint, to him,
and hell ain’t hot enough to scorch the infernal scoundrel !
If ma dies, I'll spill his base blood as certain as there’s a
bullet in the barrel — J will /”’ emphasized the fiery youth.

“There, there! don’t get into a passion; it won’t mend
matters a bit. Tell ma I’ll come, ‘though the heavens
fall’!”

And Claude Belmont knew she would, as he observed

her face.
17*

 

 

 
 

 

198 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“ Horace?”

“ Well, dear?”

“Ma is growing rapidly worse, and Dr. Burnell has sent
to advise me to go down immediately ! ”

“Who came?”

“ Bud.”

“T thought so—ha, ha! Only a feint, Bertha. I’ve
heard she’s improving — has n’t been very sick at all.”

“Who told you?”

“Well — ah — several who came into the store. I in-
quired for your sake.”

“They spoke without authority then. It isn’t likely they
should be as well informed on the subject as Dr. Burnell.”

“Well, to satisfy you, I'll inquire of the doctor.”

“I’m satisfied already on that point. I called you to say,
I wish to go down. I cannot longer remain away, and you
surely will not object?”

“ But I do object — what then?”

“T would like to have your consent; but if not, I must
go without it.”

“You will?”

“Tt is my duty, as a child; and I should be less than
human to refuse now. I am going.”

“You are?”

“Tam.. Do you consent, Horace?”

“No, by ! And when you get there — stay!”

“Very well, Mr. Stanhope —I will.”

Horace Stanhope grew white as death, as she turned
away. He felt he had tolled the bell for his own funeral,
but he was too hard and hot to apologize then; and he
trusted to his arts and wiles to win her back.

He watched her as she went down the thoroughfare, and
saw her recognize Harry Herbert with a bow. Harry lifted
his hat gracefully, and held it respectfully above his head,

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 199

as he looked after her, too, with a mingling of sadness and
pity in his soft blue eyes.

Horace Stanhope writhed with animosity, and ground his
teeth with jealous rage.

Harry Herbert looked up at him, and saw the demon
working in his face. Stanhope saw him smile as he turned
away, and thought:

“ The scoundrel is exulting in his triumph

He subsequently repeated it to Bertha. She said, in
reply to his accusation of falsehood :

“T promised you, Horace, on condition that it would dis-
arm your jealousy ; but it has not. I have determined to

1?

do my duty, and satisfy my conscience in the future, let the
consequences be what they may. I have done violence to
it many times for your sake, and it wins no reward from
you of peace and confidence.”,

“ Oh, if that’s your game, your first duty is to obey me.”

“So far as your requirements are just and right —and I
have done it; and more. But I will not do violence to my
conscience again, even for the sake of momentary quiet.”

Bertha found her mother very low, notwithstanding Stan-
hope’s daily information that she was “better,” ‘improv-
ing,” “getting well,” and so on. She reproached herself for
her credulity, and*having remained so long away, when she
looked upon that poor, thin face. But the mother knew the
child was guiltless of wrong, and uttered no word of com-
plaint.

Mrs. Belmont grew calm and cheerful, with her daughter
by her bed-side, until the shades of evening came on; then
a restlessness was visible in her dark eyes. Bertha had not
informed her home-circle of Horace Stanhope’s parting
words, knowing he would repent and come for her, and the
past be exposed. She would conceal his meanness, so long
as concealment were possible.

 
 

 

 

200 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

Mrs. Belmont watched her daughter as night came down.

“ He won’t let you come again, Bertha?”

“He must promise to offer no opposition in future, or I
will not return to him, ma.”

The mother laughed softly, with tears standing in her
sunken eyes.

“ Hurra for you!” shouted Claude, skipping up from his
chair, and turning on his heel like a top, “that’s the way
to put your foot down! Screw him hard, and he’ll cave like
a clay-bank in a long spell o’ weather! You didn’t begin
right in the first place, sir; you ought to have shown fight
before your white shoes were off —such fellows need it to
keep ’em straight! Stanhope’s as arrant a coward as ever
wore calf, and, like all of his kind, he will impose upon the
weak and helpless; while the strong and brave can push
him to the wall without much of an effort. I don’t approve
of petticoat government, as a general thing, but Ill be shot
with a shovel if it ain’t necessary with fellows like Stan-
hope! The more you kick a dog the better he “Il like you ;
and the harder you flatten some people’s nose, the easier
you ’ll get on with ’°em — dog me!”

“Try to do your duty as a wife, and don’t neglect your
duty as a child, my daughter,” said Mr. Belmont; “ never
run to extremes from a false sense of right, but take the
intermediate path, and walk it firmly, Let reason dictate,
and conscience obey.”

“T’m going to do that in future, pa.”

He thought she
was, when he looked at her.

Mr. Belmont smiled strangely. He said to his wife, when
Bertha was gone:

“That child has grown wonderfully strong and self-
conscious, of late. That small mouth shuts like a vice,
when she means a thing; and her face looks like flint some-
times. I’m glad of it,” he added, as he knocked the ashes

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 201

from his pipe, and blew through the stem to clear the tube
pipe, g
before laying it by. “Stanhope won’t be able to impose
yIMs ) ]
upon her so easily now. I ‘guess’ she “Il stick up for her

rights. If she’d been as independent two years ago, she

would n’t be a villain’s wife now!”

This was the first hint that Mr. Belmont had ever
breathed, respecting his influence in Bertha’s unfortunate
marriage.

 

CHAPTER XXXV.

MR. REDMOND “DIVES TO THE BOTTOM.” — THE SECRET
STORY REVEALED.

DALIA!”

‘ Walter’s voice was quick and solicitous. She lifted

her head from her hands and answered the call. He started

back with a cry of terror, as she threw open the chamber-

door.

“Great God !— Edalia!”

He caught her nervously in his arms, gathered her closely
up to his frightened breast, and dropped his white face upon
her deathlike brow.

“Darling, there is no cause for distress ; Thave declined —”

Edalia heard no more. Her senses receded, and she lay
insensible upon his breast.

A confused noise of frightened sobs and flying servants

greeted her as she awoke to consciousness. She was in the
parlor, supported by Mr. Redmond and Walter, mutually.
“ Lor’ bless de chile!” said Aunt Cora, as she rubbed the
cold white hands and held a burnt feather to her nose.
“She never had a fit fore ’n ’er life, po’ thing! Aunt

Cory knows she did n’t!”

 
 

 

 

202 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

Mr. Redmond started up, relieved, as Edalia opened her
eyes.

“Why, Ed, Lord bless my soul and body, if you have n’t
scared me out’n a year’s growth! I feel two inches shorter,
by Jupiter!”

He straightened himself up to a height that showed his
feelings decidedly at fault with his appearance.

Edalia felt the wild throbbings of the heart to which she
was closely held, and lifted her eyes to his. They were bent
upon her face, and suffused with tears.

“ And you will not meet?”

“No, Edie; human life is of more value than to be
lightly perilled, and that, too, by a false sense of honor. I
fear not man, but regard Him who has said, ‘Thou shalt not
kill, and ‘Ye are not your own, ye are bought with a price;’
and He alone must be the arbiter of my existence.”

“Good, boy! That’s logic that can’t be gainsaid. The
veriest dastard will fight to the death, through physical insen-
sibility, to prove himself what he isn’t; but it requires a
vast amount of courage to turn from the gage thrown down
by a burly antagonist, from principles of morality.”

“Colonel Henley, sir, was perfectly well aware of my sen-
timents with regard to duelling, and, consequently, I felt the
less hesitation, even in a social sense, in declining his chal-
lenge.”

“ Precisely ; and he the less reluctance in sending it, be-
yond question. He burnishes his bravery without the help
of a bullet through his gown. But tell us, boy, the provo-
cation that conduced to such a result.”

Walter colored and hesitated, but at length replied:

“Colonel Henley, sir, imputed to me, publicly, designs of
a mercenary nature upon the hand of a young lady, to which
I retorted with unjustifiable warmth, unless the high esteem
in which I hold her, apart from all considerations of a

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 203

pecuniary character, can be considered a sufficient exten-
uation.”

“ By Jupiter, a woman’s at the bottom of all mischief!”
ejaculated Mr. Redmond, his eyes sparkling with pleasure.
“ And so Henley ’s jealous, eh?”

“Tt is a groundless jealousy, then, sir, for I have never
presumed upon her hand.”

“ But you love her, boy?”

Walter was silent.

iL aayt”

“ Differently circumstanced, I would answer you, sir.”

“ Differently circumstanced!” The old gentleman’s eyes
flashed. ‘ Does the girl reciprocate your feelings?”

“‘T have never questioned her on that point, sir.”

“ Boy, a lover’s eye is not easily deceived. Does the girl
love you?”

“ Judging from appearances — yes, sir.”

“Then you fear opposition from her parents?”

“No— yes — sir, let us waive the subject.”

“Shan’t do it. I’m bound to dive to the bottom of this
business, by Jove!” He walked the room in a heat of ex-
citement. “If your love is mutual, why do you seruple to
propose, sir?”

“ Because, sir, I shall never lay myself liable to the charge
of cupidity by aspiring to the hand of one so far my supe-
rior in wealth. You know now, sir, why I ‘ desire to be rich
speedily’; and with this knowledge you will offer no further
Opposition to my design.”

“Tsay I shall, though; hang your pride!”

“Tt is not so much pride as the peculiar circumstances by
which I am surrounded.”

“Peculiar circumstances!” The old gentleman’s eyes
Snapped. “ What’s the girl worth?”

“ A thousand worlds.”

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

204 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

Deuce
He perambulated and mused.

Will

“All gammon! In dollars and cents, I mean.

take your rhapsodies!”
“ Boy, you are the possessor of fifty thousand dollars.
that equalize you, in a pecuniary point of view?”

epi l

“T say you are the possessor of fifty thousand dollars.”

“How, sir? I thought —”

“ Am I addicted to speaking unadvisedly ?”

SNossire

“Then, boy, go and enjoy all that I have ever hoped for
His voice faltered.
Walter turned his bright eyes upon Edalia with a joyous
He walked firmly

your mother’s son.”
smile. His face glowed with happiness.
up and extended his hand.

“ Edie, I have loved you from boyhood —you know how
fervently. Will you be my Edie —my wife?”

“T will, Walter.”

He folded her closely in his arms with a trembling clasp,
and laid his flushed face upon her half-hidden forehead.

Mr. Redmond took them both in his arms, with tears
trickling down his cheeks.

“God bless you, children!
cherished hopes of years. Boy, this is the happiest moment

You have now realized the

I have known since I held your angel mother as you do my
niece !”

“My mother, sir?”

“Your mother, boy. Behold her, and gratify an oft ex-
pressed desire.”

He drew from his bosom a small, golden locket, and
touching a spring, revealed the delicate form of a fair
young girl, in the first flush of womanhood, bearing a
striking resemblance to him whose arm encircled Edalia.

A robe of azure-blue draped the slender form; the plump
white arms were bare, and a veil of silky ringlets fell

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 205

lightly over the round, fair face and graceful shoulders like
a soft cloud of golden-hued mist. The large blue eyes
smiled upon the beholder from under the dark, curved
fringe, and a faint expression of innocent mirth sat upon the
small, rosy mouth.

Walter gazed reverently upon the lovely semblance, and
gently murmured :

“Mother.”

It was the language of the heart.

The old man paced the floor with an abstracted air.

“Children, the world laughs at the lone old bachelor,
and deems him“devoid of feeling — destitute of the softer
sensibilities that are apparent in others of his sex; but far
down in the still cloister of the old man’s soul lies a folded
leaf, lettered over with Love’s Young Dream, defying the
mildew of time, and living fresh and warm through all the
Vicissitudes of rolling years. Let the world say what it
will, ‘the heart knoweth its own bitterness,’ and

‘The wealth of the ocean lies fathoms below

The surface that sparkles above!’”

He placed the miniature in his bosom with a tremulous
hand, and with a fervent benediction left the newly be-
trothed alone.

“You may read the letter now, Ed,” said Mr. Redmond,
as she kissed him good-night and went up to her chamber,

Di was soon wandering in dreamland. She opened the
little case, and drew forth the hidden treasure. Breaking

the seal, a delicate missive dropped from the envelope
superscribed by her uncle.

Edalia read :

«Marte Hatt, June 20, 18—.
“T am dying, Edward,—slowly, but surely ; dying in
the morning of life, alone and broken-hearted. I go gladly,
18

‘
c

 

ee

—

 
 

 

 

206 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

fearlessly ; for all that rendered life lovely is lost to me
forever, and I long to flee away and be at rest!

“ But I cannot go down to the dim valley, conscious that
he, whom I have so loved, deems me false and unworthy of
the love he gave! No, Edward, though I lie in the dusk of
the grave, asleep from the anguish of earth, when you learn
the weight of woe that is w asting my life away, I cannot die
and let this fatal secret lie buried with me!

“Should you ever return from your lone wanderings over
the wide waters — exiled by my seeming inconstancy — go
to the silent spot where the hand that indites and the heart
that dictates lie cold and throbless; and. know, if immu-

table love, that yielded only to the icy hand of death, to rise

exultant and eternal in the spirit-land, could render her
deserving, the pale sleeper beneath is worthy of the tears
you shed.

“ Ah, that dim, hushed eve, when we stood beneath the
old maple and watched the mellow moonlight starring the
still waters, dreaming that life to us could not be less bright
and sparkling than its silvery surface! You remember,
Edward, that happy hour? It was the last that I have
ever known!

“T parted with you that eve, with the sweet story of your
whispered love lying, like a blessing, in the sunny fane of
my youthful heart. That eve !— it was the last flicker of
Hope’ s taper — the last note of the dying swan, the bright-
est, the sweetest — the last !

é I was told that I must resign you, or be considered the
murderer of my father! He produced the instrument of
death, and presented it to his heart! I yielded, and became
the wife of Mr. Eldon. Though conscious of my absorbing
love for another, he made me a perjurer at the holy altar!
I have endeavored to perform the duties of a wife; but my
soul was wedded to you, Edward, that blue, starry night ;
and the vow I uttered was recorded by angel hands upon the
scroll of immortality.

“My father sleeps now beneath the old willow, where
they laid my loved mother long years ago; and my hus-
band is — I cannot write it!

“ My sweet babe — my little Walter Edward —will soon
be motherless. Should he ever be fatherless, oh, Edward,

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 207

by the memory of our young and happy years, guard his
infanc y, 2 cuide his youth, and counsel his manhood.

“To your sister, my dear Edalia, I intrust this plea for
my lovely babe. I could die tranquil, could I skis him
in your arms, and know you will cherish my little, lone
bud — for his father is cold and indifferent !

“ And now, Edward, dear Edward, farewell. I have
loved thee on Earth; meet me in Heaven.

“In spirit, your Eva.”

And this was the history of the young sleeper in the
silent church-yard — the secret story of the old man’s un-
wedded life.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

HORACE STANHOPE RISKS HIS LIBERTY TO TEST HIS
POWER.—ENVY REJOICES AT CALAMITY.

ERTHA!”
She turned at the sound. Horace Stanhope stood at

the gate, looking up at the window, with one of his sunniest

smiles.

“Come, dear; it is growing late.”

Bertha left the window, with a queer compression of the
small mouth, and went down to the “ repentant sinner.” A
shade of concern displaced the sunny smile, as she ap-
proached him, without preparation for gratifying his wish,

“You commanded me to ‘stay’ when I came home.”
The face was very sober, but something in the eyes cheered
him.

“Pooh! You know I didn’t mean it. I can’t live with-

a

out you, you witch! Run for your bonnet — quick!

 

 

 
 

 

208 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“We must have an understanding before I go, Horace.
Will you object to my coming again?”

Stanhope looked puzzled and vexed. He knew he was at
her mercy, and dared not refuse then. In the height of
passion he had informed her the law would sustain him in
prohibiting her return home; but Horace Stanhope was
well aware of the fact that such a proceeding would very
speedily subject him to “lynch law” in that community.
He had received hints to that effect in the past. Bertha’s
pity was his protection.

“T will not object, when it is advisable,” he said, stingily.

“That won’t do, Mr. Stanhope. I must have the privi-
lege, without reproof, of coming home at any time. I have
a child’s and a sister’s heart, and I will not consent to tor-
ture it, and punish those who love me simply for your re-
venge, in the future. It were far better to live apart, in
peace, than together, in confusion and misery. Now that I
am at home, I will ‘stay,’ unless you promise to offer no
further opposition.”

She looked very beautiful and sweetly innocent, with her
earnest face and rich brown, soul-full eyes, reproving his
tyrannical spirit, as her little golden-brown head bent to-
ward him over the low gate.

Horace Stanhope’s impulsiveness got the better of his
spite for a moment. He stooped quickly and kissed the
small, red mouth.

“There, I promise, you torment! Now run for your
bonnet.”

It was such little flashes of golden light, revealing a better

nature, that kept the night of hopelessness from closing
around our heroine. While there was a spot of blue and a
sunbeam in her horizon, she could not wholly freeze toward
him. Horace Stanhope knew his power, and the material it
was exerted upon.

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 209

“ll come to-morrow, ma,” she said, as she turned from
the bedside of Mrs. Belmont.

“She ’ll do it, sure ’s you’re born,” laughed the old man,
as Bertha’s footsteps died upon the stairs. “She looks hard
as the rock of Gibraltar, by George!”

“She ’s had enough to harden her, poor child!” returned
the mother, with a sigh.

“T’d like to hear the rascal fume when he gets her caged
again!” growled Claude, clenching his hand; “ and I’d
like a dog sight better to bring my fist chuck against his
green eyes —so!” and the mantel rang beneath the blow
aimed at it by the indignant brother.

“ Hello, bub!” sniggered Mr. Belmont; “ don’t spoil the
paint and varnish, but never mind your fist, my boy.”

Horace Stanhope drew his wife down upon his knee when
she was safely shut in with him from the world again, and
question after question was propounded, until all that had
transpired in her absence was rehearsed in his jealous ear,
with insinuations relative to the suppression of the most
important items, at the close, on the part of the eager, invid-
ious listener. The accusation of untruthfulness was then
boldly hurled in her sober face, respecting her promise with
reference to Harry Herbert.

Bertha’s reply has been recorded, and Horace Stanhope
felt the force of it and knew he must surrender at discretion.
His tyrannical soul writhed with a feeling sense of his pow-
erlessness to coerce her from further performance of filial
duty, and his base and blind spirit resorted to a fatal expe-
dient.

Without apparent design of personal violence, he dis-
played a weapon on an occasion of renewed jealousy, hoping
to intimidate, without menaces, and subject her to his will
through fear. Horace Stanhope was so cowardly himself,

18 * O

 

 
 

 

 

210 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

he fancied he could swerve her from the right by secret
apprehensions of sudden death.

Bertha looked steadily in his wrathful eyes, and it pro-
duced the effect that an unflinching gaze would upon a
maniac. He subsided quietly, and appropriated the weapon
to a purpose obviously his original design, but he retained
the instrument in his chamber.

Our heroine was physically weak, though morally strong,
and she averted her face to conceal its expression when her
momentary firmness had passed. Horace Stanhope never
knew the effect of his dastardly experiment, but he felt the
consequences.

Bertha went home when morning dawned, and she never
returned to that chamber again. Without either love or
respect, and now impressed with the secret belief of an im-
perilled existence, she could no longer dwell beneath the
same roof with Horace Stanhope.

He went for her when “night dropped her sable curtain
down and pinned it with a star,” but a servant was the only
answer to his call. Horace Stanhope returned to his lonely
room — made lonely by his own wicked and unmanly
spirit — hot with wrath and white with mortal fear. He
felt he had sealed his fate, and deeply imprecated his pur-
blind folly. His pillow was soaked with tears when morn-
ing dawned, for Horace Stanhope was miserable without his
patient, oppressed wife, and proved his faith in her fidelity
by yearning eagerness to regain her when she had slipped
from his grasp through his own treachery and unendurable
tyranny.

Bertha declined to answer his repeated calls and returned
his letters unopened, and Horace Stanhope soon fled from
Williamsville, before the fear of being imprisoned.

The sequel showed he had been doing business “on trust”
for the firm of “ Cooley & Co.,” through the influence of his

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 211

city brothers; and the goods sold under his own name were
“tied up” from other creditors. He had become involved
upon his own responsibility in Williamsville, and after
Bertha’s desertion his creditors would have pounced upon

him, had he not “beat a hasty retreat.”

Bertha was once more left to quiet repose, believing she
would not be disturbed again by his return under the cir-
Ccumstance.

But ere the summer was ended, Horace Stanhope was
again in Williamsville, and a prisoner for debt! He had
risked his liberty to test his power with the hope of melting
her heart to sympathy for his unfortunate fate.

Bertha was vanquished by this event. She received his
letters, and comforted him with a reply. She was not
strong enough to resist the supplications of one in his
Situation.

Horace Stanhope lingered in Williamsville after his
term of imprisonment had expired. He solemnly vowed
he would not depart, until she had granted him one inter-
slew.

“Tt can do no harm,” she said to her mother, and, to
hasten his departure, Mrs. Belmont assented.

The consequence was, our heroine went out from the home-
roof one day, and was drawn by Horace Stanhope, half re-
sisting and wholly in tears, through the little yard-gate —
and Bertha never stood beneath that old, loved roof again!

Horace Stanhope had never looked so handsome, and
tenderly repentant, as when he exerted all his powers to
accomplish the purpose for which he had returned.

“T will die at your feet before I will leave you, Bertha,”
he said, piteously, “for life will be valueless without you.
I have suffered enough for the past to be wiser and better in
future. Go with me to my home, and, so help me God, you
shall never repent your confidence !”

 

 

 

 
 

 

=

eee
wg connor nmiidin hii ag

i

 

212 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“ Oh, I can not, can not!” she cried, in agony. “If we
cannot live peaceably here, I have no hope of happiness
away. You will forget your promise in the future, Horace,
as you have done in the past, and I shall be friendless in a
strange land.”

“Dear, try me and see! You have relations in New
York, and my brothers long to welcome you to their homes.
Trust me once more, Bertha, and if you are not content, I
will return you to your home, and neyer trouble you again
—so help me God!”

“TJ will trust you again here, Horace,” she sobbed ; “ but,
oh, I can not go so far away — it would kill my poor
mother! You promised her you would never take me from
my home!”

“Dear, I could not foresee what would occur to render
it necessary. I would remain now for your sake, if there
were any prospect of success in business; but all are my
enemies, because I have triumphed over them in winning
you (he could resort to flattery now!) They wish to drive
me away, and divorce you — I have heard it!”

“T shall never be divorced —I scorn the thought!” she
said, indignantly, ‘And besides, if I desired it, it could
not be obtained, Our State laws are not so liberal as
some.”

“Tt could be obtained in a few years, if I remain away,
Bertha.”

“Tf I am eyer divorced, it will be by your act, Horace,—
rest assured of that. And even were I free now by law of
man, I should never marry again while you live —a higher
law forbids it.”

Horace Stanhope’s eyes sparkled with exultation a mo-
ment; then he thought she might be induced, by future
arguments, to compromise with her conscience. He renewed
his humble entreaties and solemn penitential promises, and

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 213

80 wrought upon her weakness and sympathy that, in a
moment of forgetfulness of all the past, he drew her through
the little yard-gate; and when Mr. Belmont and Claude
returned to their home, the old house was desolate and
dripping with tears.

“ Poor, deluded child!” said Mr. Bagby, a warm friend
of the family. “A rope of sand is stronger than Stanhope’s
honor.”

“She’s weak as dish- water — let her take the con-
Sequences!” exclaimed Dr. Watson, a young bachelor and
old-time admirer of our heroine —now highly indignant
and snappish.

“She married him; let her stick to ’im through thick
and thin!” growled Mr. Smithson, an old gray-headed
bachelor. Them’s my sentiments!” he snarled, with
half angry eyes.

“T’m glad she’s gone!” whispered blue-eyed Miss
Evelyn to her confidante, who subsequently betrayed her.
“ Now there’ll be some chance for the rest of us! She was
in the way before her marriage with that good-for-nothing
Yankee; and I’ve heard some rumor of a divorce.”

And so it ran. The quiet town of Williamsville was all
alive with the startling news of our heroine’s departure for
New York “with that Yankee rascal Stanhope”; and
“Bertha the Beauty ” was almost universally censured for
her “ foolish faith.”

Harry Herbert listened quietly, with white face and
firmly set lips, to the remarks of the indignant citizens, but
made no comment. Then he went down to Mr. Belmont’s,
and condoled with the bereaved family.

 

 

 
 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

CHAPTER XXXVILI.

HORACE STANHOPE’S ANTECEDENTS. — ALONZO’S
OPINION OF BERTHA,.

eee STANHOPE sat in a vine-covered portico,
in the beautiful town of Pittsfield, Massachusetts, with
the red rays of an August sunset kissing the cheek of de-
parting day to a deeper blush.

Hannah was musing and evidently watching for some one
through the flowering vines. She was not handsome, but
had an amiable, inviting face. Her kind heart kindled in
her mild eyes at every breath that touched her sensitive ear.
She was not handsome now, but might have been, in early
womanhood; but the freshness and bloom of youth were
gone from her mature and chastened face.

She had buried three children in little green graves, and
was alone now, and as she sat, in that rosy August eve, her
sober blue eyes peered through the vine-leaves to catch a
glimpse of the coming husband and father from the sultry
city of Gotham.

Hannah’s history was romantic. In early youth she had
loved Alonzo Stanhope, but her father refused to receive
him as a son-in-law. Hannah was an obedient child, and
declined to marry, without her father’s sanction, until she
attained her majority.

Alonzo Stanhope left her, angered by her firm adhesion
to principle, and emigrated to Tennessee. He there mar-
ried a Southern wife and became the father of three chil-

dren. Hannah heard of his inconstancy, and it wrung her
faithful heart; but she lived on, through long years of sin-
gle blessedness, with a fair prospect, considering her many
rejected suitors, of dying an old maid,

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 215

Alonzo Stanhope buried his wife and children in Tennes-
See when Hannah Goodrich had attained the age of twenty-
Seven, and returned to his early home, a childless widower.
He renewed his suit to faithful Hannah, and, despite her
father’s still existing opposition, they were married.

Mr. Goodrich finally became reconciled to his daughter’s
marriage with Alonzo Stanhope;—he proved to be more
worthy of Hannah’s affection than her father had antici-
pated,

Mr, Stanhope, senior, was a wealthy citizen of Lenox,
Massachusetts, when his children — eight sons and two
daughters — were born; but disobeying the commandment

Be not thou one of them that are sureties for debt,” he
was reduced, by a friend’s failure in business affairs, from
affluence to comparative poverty

Hence his children were indifferently educated, and, as
they grew up, settled down to a clod-hopping life, with no
ambition beyond milch-cows and mafket-butter.

Alonzo, Allyn, and Horace were the exceptions. They
broke away from the “farms,” and escaped to the great
Miquitous city of Gotham, and acquired the polish that
Contact with refined society affords.

Alonzo and Allyn were sober, self-sacrificing, and perse-
Vering men, and, consequently, successful adventurers upon
the capricious sea of fortune; but Horace’s natural indo-
lence, self-indulgence, and restless temperament kept him
Continually under the wheel. He had no strength of char-
acter, and drifted lazily down the stream to dependence and
Contempt, without an effort to beat against the waves and
Secure confidence and respect. He had no moral strength,
that renders one worthy the esteem of his fellows, but in the
Pursuit of that which would gratify his sensual nature his
Perseverance was surprising — he had nosuperior. His sole
dependence for the future was upon his handsome -face and

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

216 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

graceful form. He soon wearied of the monotony and labor
of displaying dry-goods to fastidious customers. He would
go South and marry a girl with five hundred negroes and
boundless acres.

Horace Stanhope’s purse became depleted, through his
prodigal propensities, before he crossed the line of Mason
and Dixon. He was an elegant penman, and his wits soon
replenished his purse. He gave lessons to a select few in
the fine art of chirography, plainly intimating it was from
a spirit of romance, and not from necessity. His charge for
the great condescension was aristocratic. He succeeded
admirably.

Bertha Belmont’s evil genius led Horace Stanhope to
Williamsville the same week of her father’s return to her
native town. She met him, the first Sabbath after her
arrival, in an evening walk. His sensual soul was fired
by her rare beauty and native innocence. He watched
her to her home, and the following day he succeeded in
obtaining an introduction into it, with a proposition to Mr.
Belmont to receive his daughter as an “ honorary member *
of the select class he was forming; to which Mr. Belmont
assented, and entered Claude as a paying pupil through
partiality for his own people.

Thus commenced an acquaintance that eventually proved
fatal to the peace of all parties.

Horace Stanhope’s design in securing “ Bertha the Beauty Ps
as an “honorary member” very speedily became manifest.
His devotion to her became the town-talk. The belles en-
vied her, and the beaux him. They were a well-matched
pair, for beauty and grace. Mr. Belmont favored his suit,
and threw impediments in the way of other admirers.
Claude was wholly won by the charming and artful lover,
and reproved his sister for her lack of appreciation. In an
evil hour Bertha yielded, and sealed her fate!

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 217

In marrying Bertha, Horace Stanhope had fallen very far
Short of “five hundred negroes and boundless acres,” but
pie and passion must be gratified at any cost. It was well
vorth a sacrifice to triumph over so many competitors for
Ne beautiful prize, and then, his heart was involved.

Hor: » ;
race Stanhope acknowledged he had never loved till
how, ’

t

Besides, Mr. Belmont was in easy circumstances, and even
; & pecuniary point of view it would n’t be a bad bargain.
7 very readily promised never to take Bertha from her
item, for then he would not be necessitated to exert him-
= for her support. He was nothing loth to be relieved of
that responsibility.

in

ss Horace Stanhope was content to remain in idleness under
“8 father-in-law’s roof, until he was established in business
“pon capital advanced by the disappointed old man, who
finally cast. him out in disgust, as a dishonest, green-eyed
&raceless adventurer. ; a te

A: t St< ’ ‘
innah Stanhope’s blue eyes brightened, as she peered

throu, . .
rough the vine-leaves. He was coming; she distin-
fu Ss + ee . i . , .
Suished his familiar form through the deepening dusk.
1 . .

lesen . :
She went soberly forward, and met his extended hand.

m
Thi <a 2 ESS

ere were no manifestations of deep feeling in that quiet
or a

reeti jig 2 P
steeting ; and yet she loved him far more than he was
c

Mer of feeling affection. Hannah knew that, yet she
Ver betrayed it in words or seeming.
They sat down in the fragrant portico.
Horace has come,” he said, soberly.
“And his wife?”
“Yes — at last!”
A : she as beautiful as she has been represented?”
_ more! There is a soul-loveliness that no artist
can paint. Bertha possesses it; and you must see her, to

COompnrehea MY
prehend all her charms. A lovelier woman never met
19

 

 

 
 

 

218 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

a luckless fate! Horace borrowed money of a stranger on
his way up to defray their expenses to New York, and called
on me for the amount to repay the debt! I declined the
honor, and he’s dodging around in the city to avoid his
creditor. He grows worse daily.”

“My dear! Should n’t have thought a stranger would
lend.”

“Fe’s from Washington, North Carolina, on a summer
visit to Saratoga and the Lakes; and I’ve no doubt, pity
for Bertha induced the loan. His sister is with him, and
the two girls (for Bertha is a mere child in appearance)
formed quite a friendship during the journey. They all
stopped at Old Point a week — Horace flourishing on bor-
rowed funds, and Bertha ignorant of the fact. She knows
it now though, and the knowledge hurts her.”

« What on earth will become of that fellow, ?Lonzo?”

“Lord knows! He’s now at a private boarding-house on
Greenwich Street, without any prospect of being able to
pay. He’s coming up to Berkshire next week, to sponge on
his relations, if he can manage to slip off from his land-
lady!” ,

“ Dear, dear, what a worthless man!”

“ He’s no man — he’s a twenty-five year old boy; and a
dreadfully dishonest one at that!”

“J wonder his wife followed him!”

“JT do. He says he ‘stole her away from the old codger.’
Cooley says, you know, the Belmonts hate him like poison ;
and I don’t believe Bertha loves him, from the look she

gave him when the borrowed money business was exposed.
IT don’t understand it —it passes my powers of comprehen-

sion. I pity the girl.”
“Why on earth don’t he go to work, and earn aliving?”
“That’s it! He makes money enough when he tries, but

it’s sooner gone than made; and where it goes to, the deuce

BERTHA, BHE BEAUTY. 219

only knows! He ought to have had enough to carry him
to Carolina and back with his wife, with the salary ‘Allyn
aye aime before he left. And now the dog won't work.
nere 8 no vacancy in Allyn’s store now, and last week I
got him into a grocery establishment; but the fellow threw
caoly ar cyaenamgtaboptongmneng ch pe =o!
8 g as that poor child remains with
him. I won’t see her suffer — that’s flat!”
“T guess she won’t stay long, if she’s honorable.”
; * C guess you’d think she was honorable, if you ’d seen
1er indignant, scornful face (I can’t call it by any other
name!) when that borrowed money business came to light.
I thought the blood would come through her cheeks, and
her eyes flashed like lightning — and such a curl of that
little red mouth! J should have been extinguished, if I’d
stood in his shoes; but Horace coolly excused himself, by
saying ‘it was for her sake.’ The fellow has a surprisingly
hard cheek !”

 

CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE WEDDING-CAKE.—“ MARS WALLIE’S GOOD LUCK.”

OR’ bless yer heart, honey! I never seed sich a nice
cake ’fore. I named it Mars Wallie, an’ it ’s riz an’
Sponged up just as good as kin be! Dat shows ’is dispersi-
tion. I ollers knowed it, honey ; for ’e’s pine blank like ’is
ma, in an’ out — bless his blue eyes!
“ An’ you’s gwine ter have ’im at las,’ honey — he, he!
I knowed when de snail rit in de plate, ’t was boun’ ter be;
kase snails never failed yit — bless ‘em! I gwine ter eat
some cake ter-morrer night — *deed I is so! Lor’ bless yer

 
 

 

 

220 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

heart, chile, dare ain’t a gladder nigger dis side o’ heaben
dan ole Aunt Cory, dis minnet! Jes’ tack dem turkey
wings ’tween my shoul’ers, honey, an’ I’ll fly ’way home! —
An’ Miss Bert’s comin’, too, honey; dat’s —”

“No, aunty; Bertha will not come.”

“Wha — wa — what fur, chile?”

“Bertha is gone! — gone to New York with that Stan-
hope!”

“ Lordy, massy, honey! You don’ se’ so, chile!”

“ Peter is just up from Williamsville, and brings the sad
news. She left two weeks ago, and that is why I failed to
receive her expected letter. Mr. Belmont’s family is nearly
deranged, and the whole town is in a ferment.”

“Massy on us, chile! What made ’er done go fur?”

“Stanhope half stole, half forced her away. Mr. Bel-
mont and Claude were absent, or the mean Yankee jail-bird
would not have ventured near her home.”

“Good maister, honey! why didn’t da take ’er ’way
frum ’im ?”

“The law forbade, when she was in his power. Claude
—poor boy!—returned before they had left town. He
watched his opportunity, and would speak to Bertha before
she was taken away. They say it almost broke her heart.
She screamed and clung to him, and would, no doubt, have
run away home; but Stanhope held her firmly around the
waist with both arms—the wretch! He forced her away
from Claude, and lifted her into the carriage, half wild with
grief.”

“Po’ thing! po’ thing! I’ll never see ’er no more now,
honey, fur shore!” groaned Aunt Cora, over the wedding-
cake, as she drew her check apron hastily over her eyes.

“Dat’s what da got fur makin ’er have ’im!” she growled,
presently. “Good ’nuff fur ’em, ef ’t were n’t fur her — po’

thing!”

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 221

f Yes, aunty ; they repent in sackcloth and ashes — now
that it is too late. If parents would leave their children to
make their own choice of a life-partner, there’d be fewer
unhappy marriages. Old people are not proper persons to
select for the young —just as though a young heart could
be moulded by old hands! I don’t pity him, —he richly
merits what he’s got, and so thinks the community in which
he lives; but Mrs. Belmont is an object of sympathy. It
is thought she will lose her mind.”
oe lord, chile! dat's worse’n all — po’ thing! po’

g!

Edalia left the old woman groaning over the tray, the
delight, in anticipation of the convivialities of ‘“ ter-morrer
night,” all gone from her sympathizing heart, and entered
the “great house.”

A knock at the door summoned Di, and Mr. Wilmer was
announced, At his request, Edalia called her uncle and
Walter from the office.

Mr. Redmond welcomed the visitor cordially, but Edalia
observed the peculiar expression that invariably marked
his features in the presence of Mr. Wilmer.

“T have learned,” commenced Mr. Wilmer, “that a union
of the Redmond and Eldon races is on the eve of consum-
mation, and though it may seem impertinent, under circum-
Stances as they now appear to exist, to you, yet I desire to
ask, have I been correctly informed ?”

fs You have, sir,” returned Mr. Redmond, with pale lips
and agitated tone.

\ Tilme
{r. Wilmer sprang up and advanced toward the old
man,

iti .

And will you bestow your wealth and the hand of your
niece . P
€ce on the penniless son of him who has wronged you
be - ey

¢yond reparation, and the grandson of him who has ren-

dered eg life lonely and unblest by the nearest and dear-
g*

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

222 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

hh

est of earthly ties through avarice and unparalleled parental
stoicism ?”

“T have, sir.”

Walter sprang up.

“Penniless! You have hitherto evaded my inquiries
relative to this subject, sir, but I thought —”

“ Boy,” interrupted Mr. Redmond, “you are my adopted
son.”

Walter dropped down beside Edalia with a troubled air.

Mr. Wilmer turned and confronted the young man.

“ What did you think? It may be to your advantage to
answer me freely.”

“That I was not a penniless aspirer to this hand, sir; that,
notwithstanding all his unmerited care and kindness from
infaney to mature years, I was asking all he has to bestow!”

“You are not a penniless aspirer to that hand, sir. You
are the son of a wealthy and repentant man. Boy, I am
Wilmer Eldon — your father!”

He threw off the dark tresses that hid his gray locks as
he spoke.

Mr. Redmond shrank back and covered his face with his
hands, and Walter sprang to his father’s embrace. The old
man bowed his head upon his boy’s shoulder, and, like re-
pentant Peter, he “ wept bitterly.”

Mr. Eldon advanced towards Mr. Redmond.

“ Edward, it is written, ‘If you forgive not men their
trespasses, neither will your father in heaven forgive your
trespasses.’ I can never repair the wrong I have done you,
but will you forgive that wrong?”

Mr. Redmond grasped his extended hand, and the old
pleasantry returned to his moist eyes and placid mouth.

They gathered around the long-lost, to hear the story of
years that were gone. It ran:

TJ left the scene of my ruin and wretchedness, a reckless

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 223

and hopeless man. God only knows how fondly I loved
pi: er obtain whom I compromised my honor and manhood.
i — a pecuniary obligation, and de-
¢ his daughter as an equivalent —a work of super-
crogation, for he was but too ready to sacrifice her at the
Shrine of his god — gold. ‘
«
rea) Pepe visi her epantionsttd care and devotion ;
Bs gh ever gentle and irreproachable in demeanor,
“03 young face, that grew whiter and thinner day by day,
drove me to madness and the wine-cup. I became cruel and
tyrannical. Our child was my aversion, for it was wor-
shipped by the heart that was closed upon its father.
“With her died all my hopes. I plunged deeper into
dissipation, and the gaming-table completed my ruin.
I fled in despair, and left my helpless boy to the tender
Mercies of chance.
ae Years passed away, and I wedded again —a fair young
girl, who gave me her whole heart; and for a time I forgot,

Wt Wesit Ry ; ‘
1er love, my former degradation and misery. But a
change ¢: : . go ae:

nge came and I fell, to rise too late to retrieve all that
Was lost!

“Dp
ut you know all that. Months ago, I told you, when

Stood before you, after the lapse of many years, in the

I

sate of a Temperance Lecturer. Temperance! it has
‘ue, ene In an hour when the good angel

stled and prevailed, I pledged myself to total abstinence
from the ‘enemy that steals away the brain;’—and from
ty hour I have been a reformed man.

‘I remembered my poor lone boy, and to make some
Pasian for the past I went to the land of gold. I sueceeded
eyond my expectations, and turned my steps homeward.
A Spirit of romance came over me, and I assumed a stranger-
—— I watched you narrowly, and soon found that my
oy and your girl were destined to make us forget past

 
 

 

 

224 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

enmity, by a union of names and fortunes ; for I knew you
too well to doubt your consent, on the ground of pecuniary
considerations. I waited the result, and it has come.”

Mr. Redmond started up, buoyantly.

“By Jove, it was the.’leventh hour! I saw what the
mischief was, and had to practise deception upon the young
gentleman’s credulity, or the end would not have been yet!
The boy's as proud as Lucifer!—hanged if he ain’t, by
Jupiter!”

Aunt Cora forgot, for a time, her great grief for “ Miss
Bert’s” absence, over the glorious news of “ Mars Wallie’s
good luck;” and little Dick turned a glad somerset as
he pitched out of the kitchen-door on a brisk run for the
parlor, “to git a good look through de crack at Mars Wal-

lie’s bran-new pa!”

 

CHAPTER XXXIX.

BERTHA THE BEAUTY IN BERKSHIRE, MASSA-
CHUSETTS.

T was a sober, sweet September evening — Martha Stan-
hope called it “afternoon,” as she parted with a neigh-
bor at the kitchen-door.

Silas was shelling corn for the pig, and “ Newt ” was kill-
ing flies on the red cow, when the stopping of a carriage at
the door aroused all parties.

“T swan, if there ain’t Horace!” said Silas, in a shiver.

“Good land! —and his wife!” exclaimed Martha, under
her breath.

“ Where’s my new trousers, mother?” whispered “ Newt,”
springing in from the cow-pen in a flutter.

1»

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 225

Newt was twelve years of age, and was beginning to feel

manly ; besides, he had ¢ aught a glimpse of Bertha’s beau-
tiful face, and fe It a sudden impulse to look as well himself
as circumstances would allow.

“Git eout, yeou!” said Martha, giving her boy a poke
with her nervous hand —“ ’t ain’t Sunday! ;

Newt sniffed, notwithstanding his manhood ; but curiosity
got the better of his indiguation. He crawled ovér Martha’s
bed, and peered through the small window at the descend-
ing stranger — his “Southern aunt.”

“ A-i-n’-t she a beauty, mother! Jiminy criminy

“Hush that!” commanded Martha, tying on a clean
{pron with all speed. “I want yeou should stop swearin’,
or [’]]__

“Golly ! that ain’t swearin’, mother —he-aw! Deacon
Smith Says itr?

“Deacon Smith ain’t no better’n he should be, then!
Don’t yeou let me catch yeou talkin’ after Deacon Smith
So fash!” ;

Silas jerked on his coat, in honor of a stranger’s arrival,
and met his visitors at the gate, with a little timidity per-
ceptible in his sun-burnt face.

“Wall, neow, I be rale glad tew see ye, Horace, and —
he glanced modestly at our heroine.

“ My wife, brother Silas, — your sister Bertha.”

“How d’ye do,” said Silas, taking the little hand with a
grip that was pleasant when he let it go—“ I swan tew man
if I ain’t pleased tew see ye at larst! ’Lonzo said yeou’d
be along our w ay some time, but we’d a’most give up hopin’.
Come in an’ re st, won’t ye? Guess yeou ’re abeout tuckered
eout, ben’t ye?”

Bertha looked at Horace with silent wonder. She had
never heard the Yankee language spoken to perfection
before,

P

 

 
 

 

 

 

226 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

Horace’s handsome mouth dropped on one side with
amusement, as he looked at her, and followed Silas into the
“ keepin’-room.”

Martha’s greeting was quite as cordial as her lord’s, with
less timidity. She was a genuine, whole-hearted, home-
made woman; and Bertha felt her goodness at a glance.
Her home-sickness wore away in Martha’s presence.

Our hefoine would have taken more to Silas, but for his
bare feet — the sight of them repelled her by the vulgarity
of the display.

But Bertha learned to feel more kindly towards her new
brother-in-law during their three weeks’ stay under his hum-
ble roof. His kind heart drew her irresistibly towards him,
despite his plebeian appearance and amusing style of address.

Little Martha, the eldest girl, of four summers, crept
timidly up behind our heroine’s chair, and softly kissed the
cheek of ‘‘ Aunt Berta.”

Bertha drew the shy but loving little creature upon her
lap, and pressed her lips upon the modest little mouth,
entering into a conversation with the timid thing with such
familiarity and interest that the child’s warm heart was
very speedily and effectually won.

She crept back into the kitchen, where poor Newt was
skulking in dirty clothes, and clapped her bits of hands
gleefully, exclaiming :

“JT dooz love Aunt Berta—I dooz! I ben’t one bit
*feard of ’er now, Newt — goody!”

“Where’s Newton?” inquired Horace, when the younger
children had all paid their respects to the visitors.

Martha laughed, shutting her eyes so tightly during the
process, that Bertha’s orbs twinkled.

“ Newt ’s ashamed tew let his new aunt see him without
his Sunday go-tew-meetin’s on! I guess his pride’ll be his
pizen, ef he lives long! ”

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 227

Horace slipped into the kitchen, and dragged Newt from
under the bed and into the “keepin’-room,” blushing like
& peony in the presence of the Southern stranger. Tears of
Mortification stood in his youthful eyes.

Bertha took his little hard hand and kissed his boyish
mouth so kindly, smoothing his young crown so familiarly,
that Newt looked up in astonishment. His awkwardness
Wore away gradually, until the bright boy evidéntly forgot
his work-clothes in listening to and admiring his “ beautiful
and good-hearted new aunt.”

Our heroine’s eyes wandered over the supper-table with
quick but suppressed surprise. Pickles and pork, potatoes
and pies, custard and cake, coffee and tea, were all there!
And Bertha observed that the family removed the pickles
With their fingers! She wondered if they would the pork,
and was gratified to find the Southern style was practised
n that respect — but she made no comments. She avoided
carefully all remarks that might have a tendency to hurt
Horace, or annoy his friends.

She looked around at the high mountains shutting her in
from the world, and requested Horace to point out the
South. Then her yearning gaze went off in that direction,
and her aching heart climbed over the tall rocks, and stood
Silently in her dear, old, deserted home.

What had she suffered since she left that home! How
had she been disappointed and shamed by the discovery of
® new trait in her husband’s character — him, for whom
she had left all, and followed to a strange land!

But Bertha did not know all then. She was not aware
of the humiliating fact that their board was unpaid on
Greenwich Street; that their landlady had suffered Horace
Stanhope to leave her house without cancelling his debt,
glad to get rid of him on such easy terms! The poor widow
was quite loth to trust him for a longer stay, and relied

 

 
 

aa

228 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

upon his city brothers for indemnification for the past.
Bertha only knew she had to go supperless up the Hudson,
the night previous, as Horace had only means to pay their
passage to Berkshire, exclusive of board; and how he ob-
tained that she never knew. She had casually learned his
indebtedness to her Carolina friend, and shame and disgust
crimsoned her cheeks, and curled her expressive lips.

But Bertha made no complaint and uttered no word of
reproach. He was kind to her, and she would test him to
the furthest extent of patience and forbearance.

Bertha called him kind, because he had uttered no profane
word in a towering passion, and shed tears in a state of after
repentance. But Bertha knew the green snake was yet in its
nest, neither killed nor scotched. It had reared its reptile
head and hissed threateningly on several occasions, since she
left her home, notwithstanding she had left all to follow him!

Her Carolina friend had come in for a good share of his
snakeship’s spite; and Horace had abandoned Old Point
Comfort a day in advance of his benefactor, to avoid his
further gallantry towards his lovely young wife ! Bertha
found there was neither gratitude nor spark of sensibility
in Horace Stanhope’s nature, when she learned the imposi-
tion deliberately practised upon his kind and magnanimous
Carolina friend.

Why had he molested her in her peaceful and plenteous
home, and half foreed her away from tender relatives and
faithful friends, if he had not the means necessary to defray
her expenses to his own land, and furnish her with food,
when there?

Was that love, which deprived the object of every comfort
of life, and held it in bands of tyranny, subject to its own
selfish and arbitrary will?

Bertha was growing sceptical of Horace Stanhope’s love.
Now that he had her away from the home-roof, he made less

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 229

a to keep up the appearance of honesty and industry
i ei and playfully ridiculed her conscientious
es relative to his dishonest course.

Bertha found Horace Stanhope was content to live upon
others’ bounty, without any exertions of his own. He had
ee & situation in New York simply because it was too
tigen and took him several squares from her during the
oo i oe had her beneath the same roof of
ee em ess establishment, or so near that he could watch

1 the window.

Rica 3 fing > :
Mr. Belmont had erected a store in his yard for the de-

vote . P
young husband’s accommodation, and Bertha never
eft ‘ é
her home, or received a call, but Horace Stanhope was
Close at hand.
‘ Ow that she was wholly in his power, as he imagined,
or ea Ms RB . ee:
Horace Stanhope deemed his frail, leaning wife incapa-

ble of

age,) gt and eta efforts to liberate herself from bond-
a <n ra and V poate revived, in all their fearful force,
‘ila aes and Bertha shrank, shudderingly, from the
“1 principles.
tera cre-oe the pious sentiments he had penned a few
sialic a when he was at her mercy and had an object to
ii es ee 1. Now she was in Ais power, and the mask was
; ger needed, and Horace Stanhope dropped it as an
Mcumbrance.
Sear shamelessly, af his great love for her had induced
exes nake a virtue of necessity, knowing her Puritan
vanes — he was none the worse for his faith ; he loved
He 4 11s belief, and she did not love him with hers!
had si perjured himself at the bridal altar, but she
hy lich was the better of the two? He was just as
= made him —could n’t make himself otherwise ; and he
Was not responsible for his actions or belief!”

Bertha dic : ER :
— discovered he had veered from infidelity to Uni-
20 ?.

 
 

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUT 2

versalism —converted, no doubt, under the eloquent ora-
tions of that popular champion of salvation for rogues —
Chapin!

She wondered if he would not be proselyted to the true
faith under the political preachings of that highly-gifted and
higher-salaried popular favorite — Henry Ward Beecher.

But Bertha did not attempt to combat his faith; she
knew her impotence, and endured his mingled mirth and
sarcasm in silence, veiling her eyes to hide their spirit-fire.

Twice they had been separated, each time under different
circumstances; twice she had trusted and hoped. The third
time would be fatal. Now that she had ventured all, she
would bear and forbear, so long as bearing and forbearing
was a duty and a virtue.

Horace Stanhope fancied her utterly helpless in his grasp.
He guarded her all day long, and knew she had no friends
at command. He insisted upon reading her letters home, and
never allowed her to have the first perusal of one from her
friends; Bertha invariably received them with broken seals.

He kept her in ignorance of her city relatives, and Bertha
left New York for Massachusetts without the knowledge of
their locality.

And now, as she stood, with longing gaze going up the
black sides of the granite mountains that shut her in from
all she loved best, and whose lives were bound up in hers,
memory was active, and the face looked over the lonely hills
from the sweet South, and deepened her distress.

Bertha never saw that face distinctly, only in her darkest
hours of yearning and remorse. It grew faint in the sun-
shine, but full in the shade. It was a living reproach for
the weakness of the past.

Horace Stanhope’s keen eyes saw the shadow deepening
in her homeward gaze, and a fierce light gleamed from the

green orbs.

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 231

cg
ie ' :
She was grieving for her old lovers,” he said, as he drew

her ¢
away, ¢ mn kiss i
ve y, and then kissed the small mouth, with the manly
assurance that “j
in her eyes,
Whe ar ? 4 ith ¢
en Martha found herself alone with Silas, she half

whispere ‘ +
eeeees, lest the visitors should overhear:
Neow ben’t she

t was only in fun,” when he saw moisture

Mitidle acto - beauty ? I wr ay: as :

asi veo ao a pictur, I swan! said Silas, peeling off
\ all speed, in which he had been victimized all

B a out of respect for his company.

hate oe epee stopped there. He could not

raat ‘ oe = shoes; that was beyond his constitutional

: “tone e -— a natural repugnance to shoes, except as

protection against Jack Frost.

ian ceed he continued, “if I sal pity the

aac “ ne 8 tailin and sweet as a basket o’ chips, but
@ look out’n her eyes that ben’t good for gladness.

Sure ’s :
© gun, it ben’t all right inside of her pearance,
mother,”

the eve

cg
Se 1 . a . ,
bie i ~~ like she dooz look for something that’s lost, when
she be ee a
; n't talkin’. Her eyes look away beyant ye, when ye
00k in ’en f ties ’

. 1; makes me feel kind 0’ queer sometimes. But
lorae

; 4 ‘
heer € don’t let ’er think long. How that fellow dooz keep
USSIN round ! ”

Ha 2, “2 3 F
like $ too proud of ’er for her good, I cale’late. I don’t

like ¢ at grievin’ look out’n her eyes—that’s so/ I’d
Ke tew k - 2° . >
mies W know if she loves him; a body can’t tell from her
O 8, I swan ! ”
“
I gue
L0w Hor
tell ?”

8s she dooz, or she would n’t be here. I wonder
ae bd > > .
ace got ’er away from the old folks; did n’t ’Lonzo

ity
No;
at a the fellow was clus-mouthed as a chestnut-bur. I
yer 4 + £ me 2
= did see the beat of it, fore day! I knowed some’n
as ae :
“S up when that fellow cut so shy, Iswan!”

 

seise

 
 

 

Se ee

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“@uess not. Horace is tender of ’er as a suckin’ babe,
and she seems tew feel thankful for his kindness. I don't
see no cause for complaint nowhere.”

“ Wall, I hope you’re right, but I have my doubts ; them
eyes don’t look right, tew my mind. Who ever saw such
hands, I’d like tew know! —hardly a mite bigger than our
little Mat’s, and white as two snow-flakes at that! Them
hands never done no work, you may bet — and Horace poor
I swan tew man, if that hand did n’t feel

as stunny ground!
in mine! I’m afraid

like a bit o’ gun-cotton when she put
I squoze it a mite too many, not bein’ used tew such hands;
for she squinched, and looked a bit hurt, poor child!”

The advent of a Southerner in Yankee land aroused the
curious all around. Horace Stanhope’s beautiful Southern
wife drew many inquisitive hearts to Silas’s humble home.

Our heroine was pained to see no young faces among them
all. Even the children had a hard, ancient, weary look.
And then their conversation was startling to Southern ears.
It was of washing clothes, haying, selling butter and cheese,
and the sin of slavery, and Southern chivalry.

Bertha bit her lip with suppressed amusement, and veiled
her eyes from the honest, humble, and toil-hardened natives.
Then she sighed more deeply for her own dear refined

Southern land.

 

CHAPTER XL.
BERTHA’S LIFE IN BERKSHIRE.

NCLE ENOS” was the boast of the Stanhope race —
an elder brother of Horace’s futher, and worth eighty

thousand dollars.

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 233

Bertha h: ar
ins had heard of “Uncle Enos” until her curiosity
as alive , i isti :
thn = behold that ancient and distinguished indi-
al. She hoped, also see somethi s
Si conic ped, also, to Bec something of Southern style
Ty nit under the roof of one of his means
1€ mode of livi P 9
a of living se whose acquai
taied gs ng of those whose acquaintance she had
: .
eh ie 1e old Bay State, was rather beneath that of the
St class ' Claenlins
wits iss of Carolina backwoodsmen. Bertha longed for
e ung of a different type. :
Silas was a “we f
i ~ Was a “well-to-do farmer,” but the poorest Southerner
Q ( ie ¥ ‘i . . . ‘ ;. ;
suis ever known was his superior in gentility, both in
son ¢ dat < ; ‘b d
and domicil. She liked the humble-minded man

for hj
J us war art ¢ i i i
rm heart and evident interest in the young
. Db

Stra over
aie there was not a home air about his personnel
: 3.
esd were going to “Uncle Enos’s” to spend the day —
tistha onic ate bose miles; which means, simply,
dtvarus het ea ont into the reckoning the ups and
itd ae 4 me ou may travel double the distance on
soul, and save your brain-pan and backbone into

a

the bargain,

Silas |}
48 brought out the Jersey ws ( i
RSitikoua oe t the Jersey wagon, and the four married
S filled it to surfeiting —includi i
: ¢ f
Make, os ‘i g uding the baby in
“e T
Newt” w ;
? was | ake care of ‘
sade eft to take care of the three younger ones
es cat, with instructions “tew milk the ke-ows, and
Sive the pig a bit o’ swosh, if they didn’t gi as
does sh, ey didn’t git tew hum afore
ru
nele Enos’s ” 5 : P
bill, win “nos’s”’ house was a two-story frame, set upon a
> 1a arrow var } ms a
BAe narrow yard in front bounded by a low fence,
owers apy
wers or flowering shrubs around. The dwelling
o

had thi

i ursted for pai any

wigaeey coe paint many years, and had grown dry and

Mebiae or the want. It reminded Bertha of a broken-
/arolina country aristocrat.

All aro J
around looke ly s yt vais . ‘
oad ked lonely and sighing, in the sadly shim-

 
 

 

234 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

mering September sunshine. The everlasting mountains
frowned down on every side heavy and grim, as the iron
portals of a State penitentiary, shutting her in from the
sweet hopes of sunnier life beyond!

The family consisted of the old people and two sons, two
hired girls and one man.

“Uncle Enos” was a little, withered-up, weather-beaten
man, of seventy odd years; he might have been a centena-
rian from appearance. His bright blue eyes twinkled like
stars in December, and looked quite as cold; but his heart
was seemingly as warm as his hand was hard. He was
exceedingly fond of “fun” and “young folks.” His dress
was decent, but home-made. He had shoes on his feet !

« Aunt Nancy” was a large, fat, blue-eyed, dignified old
lady, with a pleasant smile and pleasing address. Bertha
leaned towards her at first sight. There was more refine-

” mind and manners than our

ment in “Aunt Nancy’s
heroine had met with in Massachusetts.

The old lady was afflicted with lameness, and moved
about slowly and painfully ; but every movement was dig-
nified and self-conscious. Her antecedents were, obviously,
superior to her surroundings. She was a native of Con-
necticut. “Uncle Enos” had transplanted her from an
ancestral conservatory to a kitchen-garden. In inherent
possessions and powers she rose superior to the drudgery of
every-day life. Her individuality was plainly perceptible
—it had not been absorbed by his. She commanded the
highest respect of her husband, children, and friends.
Bertha loved her.

Jason, the elder son, was a small, modest, hard-working
man of twenty-two, indifferently educated, and engaged to
be married. Jason blushed like a girl at the bare mention
of matrimony. He was amiable as he was ignorant, and
timid as he was industrious.

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 235

, Gideon, or “Gid,” as he was invariably termed by all
cae AG she yada rs rte alled oubs was
pe ary, but his orthography was excruci-
ating, His limited education vetoed his would-be author-
=r a cop ent npr
a2 ) s fast as raw recruits from a regular
mead But Gid inherited his mother’s nature, and would
ici made a superior man with proper cultivation; but

Unele Enos” bound him to the “ farm,” and dwarfed his

renius _ . . 5 ;
- 8. ; He was but nineteen, notwithstanding his mature
Proportions,

ship.

cs
ean ‘ baiht eye for beauty, and no caution to cover
Pi st ac miration with; and Horace Stanhope’s watch-
M8 bi es bing green fire, as Gid made no secret of
ertha.
Horace soon found his uncle’s home very uncomfortable
nage bid prudence held him in patient bonds a while.
rs bata ageeny upon his relatives, and must submit to
i Xigencies of his condition; but Bertha felt the torture
‘e endured. He could not suffer her to rest while he was
1M pain,
a Horace Stanhope would have declined his uncle’s invita-
Ce ata Fn

j : as ‘ f ,8 glowed a mortal
tie aie jealous rage, provoked by Gid’s innocent admira-

n of, and boyish attachment to “Cousin Bertha.”

They had been but a day domiciled at ‘“ Uncle Enos’s,”

wher rac ag
. itl 1 Horace entered our heroine’s chamber, and asserted,
vith e ;
; 1 clouded brow and low-pitched tone:
cay ? . y .
You ’ve been telling Uncle Enos that I am jealous!”

>
Bertha looked up in. astonishment.
I have?”

cy
: F es, you have; and you dare not deny it!”
beg your pardon, Mr. Stanhope; I have never spoken

 
 

 

 

a

| Hi
.

ih
1
Hh

 

Se eee os

236 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

to him on the subject —I have too much self-respect ;” her
lip curled.

Horace subsided forthwith. With all his mean-minded-
ness, he never doubted her veracity. He never looked into
those clear, soul-full eyes, and declared, seriously, he ques
tioned her truth. He was a queer compound of consistency
and meanness. He loved her, and relied upon her honor;
yet he was jealous of her love, and was not content to make
himself miserable—she must share his wretchedness. He
was happy when he could torment her to tears, and mis-
erable when she was apparently content.

Bertha smiled, aside, at the bare idea of her becoming
enamored of ignorant, clownish, but good-natured Gid; yet
she did not betray her feelings in seeming or words. She
did not inquire why he had suspected her of exposing his
faults; for her perceptions were sufficiently acute to discover
“Uncle Enos’s” keen eyes had detected the truth, without
the aid of her tongue, and that a remonstrance from the
old man had sent Horace up-stairs rankling with spite. She
had not forgotten his solemn promise to her, the day she left
her home, to follow him to a stranger land; but she did not
remind him of it then. She would let the cloud pass over
as softly as it might. But one truth was incontestable:
Horace was as jealous of his own friends as he was of hers.

Horace Stanhope finally came to an open rupture with
Gid, who dubbed him-“ Green-Eyes,” and took Bertha to
Pittsfield to board, without any prospect of paying the bill.
He professed to be in daily expectation of goods from
“Cooley & Co.,” and affected preparations for opening @
store in that pleasant town; but time passed away, and the
goods were not forthcoming; and Horace took his wife back
to New York, with funds borrowed from Silas, and paid his
bill in Pittsfield through the same source.

“T swan tew man!” said Silas to Martha, shaking his

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 237

fist furiously at an imaginary Horace,—“I swan tew man,
if that dog’s worth the powder it ’d take tew blow ’im up!
I would n’t a-done it, by hokey, ef it hadn’t a-ben for her —
poor child!”

Bertha did not cross the threshold of the hotel, during
her stay in Pittsfield, until she left it for New York. Her
time there was undisturbed by clouds and constant drop-
Pings, for she formed no acquaintance but that of the land-
lady, and a private table was laid for her lord’s accommo-
dation ; and Horace was at rest, relying upon his brother to
liquidate his liabilities.

It was early morn when they arrived at the great Babel.
Bertha looked weary and care-worn. She was tired — very
tired of the life she was living, and yearned for a quiet,
Peaceful place to rest her frail form and aching heart.

She was forced to walk a long, weary way from the wharf
to Alonzo’s, for Horace’s funds were expended, and the
luxury of a hack was denied.

: Alonzo and Hannah welcomed her kindly, and the poor,
tired heart revived as a feeling of home-warmth came over
1t once more, ‘

Horace sat down in his brother’s home in ease and indo-
lence, while Alonzo was laboring for his support, until, in
extreme disgust, Bertha secretly informed her father of her
shameful and revolting situation, and expressed a desire to
return home. She then acquainted Horace of her act and
Purpose, He was struck dumb with astonishment and wrath,
4% moment. .Then came the violent storm, succeeded by
the gradual lull, and finally the tearful entreaties.

Bertha reiterated her unwillingness to being dependent
PRO her brother-in-law, and bravely declared her determi-
ha 1on to submit no longer to so humiliating a position.

Bertha evidently rose in her new relative’s esteem when
the state of affairs was revealed by repentant Horace. She
overheard Alonzo remark to Hannah, subsequently :

 
 

 

238 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“T said she was honorable. I wish Horace was!”

Horace Stanhope now bestirred himself to avert the
impending calamity of losing his lovely and daring wile.
He was confounded by her temerity. He had thought her
wholly in his power, when, lo! she had shown herself capa-
ble of more energy than himself!

“ How had she smuggled that letter into the post-office?”

“ Alonzo had taken it for her, without being aware of its
contents, or of Horace’s practice of reading all she wrote.”

Stanhope shut his teeth hard with impotent rage. He
dared not come to a rupture with Alonzo, for he well knew
his brother would defend Bertha against him. He had
playfully kissed her, on one occasion, in the presence of
Hannah and himself; and Horace was as jealous of his own
brother as he had been of Gid.

Bertha was lectured in secret for too familiar deport-
ment towards an old married man!—and Alonzo’s quick
perceptions soon detected the gangrene of his brother’s mind.

Through the influence of his brothers, Horace Stanhope
again obtained goods of “Cooley & Co.,” and made pre-
parations for commencing business on Sixth Avenue.
Bertha had consented to remain with him, if she could do
so without detriment to her sense of honor.

When Stanhope returned, one evening, he observed a
gentleman bidding adieu to Bertha, with more familiarity
than was agreeable to Green-Eyes.

“Who was that?” he snapped out.

“ Pa’s cousin — Mr. Averley.”

“The devil! How did he find you?”

“Pa gave him my address.”

“Your pa’d better mind his own business. What did
the fellow want?”

“To see me.”

“A very great honor! Is that all?”

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

iii .
5 ibis : ‘ , ;
He wished to aid me in returning home, at pa’s re-
quest,”

“ By
—— MS ~ es I -” away from them. Be are my

7 ig ro goer take you from me by eae i

ig NTA ste at] * ar J1Sé e
ia ae. a Dinah aerate srs it rei I
Ht + abE pe, ; mm written 1ome for means to
ss ve me from a humiliating situation, and pa has only
= request. Let your wrath fall upon me, and
iene, abuse of the innocent. J can bear it. I have
esi a from long custom. You promised me, if I
ha os oe onee more, I should never repent my con-
iis te So = p you God! You said if I were not content
2 YOu would return me to my home. I told you then
eat ae Le your promise, in the future, as you had in

ast. Did I say right, Mr. Stanhope?”

Stanhope said not a word, as he walked the floor
and looked
puzzled,

! I won’t stand this much longer! They can’t

Horace

at the firm young face before him, with a
mean testa nage’ aapression. Then the thought of her
ie int 3 Bs Violet Seminary came over him. She was
hata : & ’ hen rightly managed, but could not be forced
aa iy ee knew that — without bolts and bars;
racic ‘ witch always found friends everywhere, to
patton it say her foes. Alonzo and Allyn would both
piniedl's r; and then there was that Averley relative just
feo ellos hg the wealthiest and most influential men
rindihaade y of New York. Stanhope knew him well by

ation
his feathe
i

; and he knew, also, he would not venture to beat

Nie, rless wings against that rock. He had kept her in
©", 4nce of her city friends, but her father had foiled him,
As length he said, mournfully, mastering his ire :
hag you are going home, Bertha?”
race: t ieates » JI remai if w
live sex sa i aie yee I would remain, if we could
y- I will not leave you so long as we can

 
 

 

240 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

live together in peace and honor. But I could not consent
to be a burden to your friends.”

Horace Stanhope was tender and true many days after
this great relief from imminent danger.

He took her to a little room in the rear of his store, and
kept her hidden from the world; passing most of his un-
employed time with the little recluse, and watching for cus-
tomers through a glass door that intervened.

Mr. Averley informed the city relatives of Mr. Belmont
of his daughter’s locality ; and the bitter cold winter passed
more pleasantly than our heroine had anticipated.

But Bertha did enter a church but twice during her
six months’ residence in the city. She was at his mercy
there, for she dared not venture alone, and shrank from ex-
posing him to her friends.

Mr. Belmont, finding his daughter would not return to
him, made preparations to dispose of his property at 4
sacrifice, and go to her. Mrs. Belmont’s health was failing

fast, and Claude urged the exchange. But ere the time of
departure arrived, Mr. Belmont received a line from Bertha,
which ran: “Don’t come. I am going home.”

And impatiently she waited an explanation.

CHAPTER XLI.

HORACE STANHOPE’S THIRD FAILURE. — BERTHA
RESOLVES AND EXECUTES.

ORACE STANHOPE had been doing business for
Cooley & Co. but four months, when there was 4
sudden stop in the mercantile machinery. Something was
evidently wrong, but Bertha was not permitted to know the

:

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 241
why ¢ es on ‘
hs zane wherefore. She knew he had sold a creat many

0ds affay a :
8 8, and affairs looked prosperous.
She Ww

: as surprised, one day, by the entrance of Horace
Into her }

2 rermitage, followed by two gentlemen. Mr. Cooley,
€ recognized : : :
. ecognized ; the stranger was introduced as Mr. Har-

an, ig: ther. wo ; ;
Bs This, then, was the firm with whom Horace had been
dealing

Berth

ertha’s heart cank i 4

tes . v’s heart sank beneath a heavy presentiment of evil
ass 1e b ’ ‘ a)
” ooked into Horace’s eyes. As Colonel Wilmer had

Ce se eet :

uid, there was a “sneaking, snaky look about him’

that chille
scones her. He had the appearance of one who had
on ¢

’

32) : 4 - . . .

ught in some dishonest act, and was trying to wriggle

out of t] " —
the net.

Bertha se

sat quietly and listened attentively. Messrs.

Cool ‘

alge a a ae : cS eee
: ey & Co. were dissatisfied with the phase of affairs,
and Stanhope’

s business must be brought to a sudden ter-
Bertha learned that much, but the groundwork

Of the nasi. lp re re ck. Ss
Cause of their dissatisfaction was couched in too ob-

Scure |; é ( :
und anguage for her comprehension. Horace evidently
Nderstood it

iva. from the hue of his countenance; he was

HH, hether from rage or shame, Bertha could not decide.
‘ 3 never ai . > . .
ag ver blushed, whatever his feelings might be; anger or
J . ? bd
oe turned him deathly white.
ls “firm”? wan e ms .
AR hi . was exceedingly gentlemanly, and kind as
bi ee would justify, but they could no longer supply
Vith o 3 _ 3 ) "
Bea goods upon such terms as he had heretofore been
Celving them,
Her
are pie ee .
isis ee was another cheat! If Cooley and Co. had
DAC r :
bas as ‘ehdawes. 534 they would not have brought matters
™ & 8udc Os : Pes
eR ota en close, Stanhope, evidently, was indebted for
~ £00ds g . .
These old, and what had he done with the proceeds ?
i ’ Was another Belmont affair over again!
i“ ertha knew .
is br Nea
brothers, Al

21

the profits had not been expended for her.
onzo and Allyn, had given her more than
Q

 
 

 

242 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

Horace had, since she came to the city.. She had even been
compelled to sleep on a straw mat during the entire bitter
cold winter, to save the expense of feathers; but she had
not complained nor hinted of her comfortable home-quar-
ters far away. Her board was very reasonable, with an
honest, humble Irish family beneath the same roof.

And yet, with all the economy they had practised and
his rapid sales, he was a defaulter to the firm —to what
amount she never knew.

Stanhope led the way from the room, saw the firm safely
out, and came back in a passion.

“ What was that fellow doing?” he asked, with a black
brow.

“ Which one, and when?”

“Qh, you need n’t try to deceive me! I saw it all.”

“T don’t wish to deceive you, Mr. Stanhope. What did
you see?”

“T saw that rascal Harman kiss his hand to you as he
left!”

“Ts there any harm in that? And if there is, am I re-
sponsible for it?”

“T should think there was harm —a married man kissing
his hand to a married woman! If you’d conducted pro-
perly, he would not have taken the liberty —the knave!”

“You can judge of the propriety of my conduct; you
were present during their stay. I did not utter a dozen
words while they remained, and I think I looked up but
twice. I should have thought it rude in an utter stranger,
but for the evident pity and respect that beamed in his
eyes. I know but little, as yet, of your Northern style, and
I meant to ask you if it was a common custom among
Yankees.”

“Yes, it’s very likely I should have heard of it, if I
had n’t seen the insult from the villain!”

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 243

“TI don’t consider it an insult, Mr, Stanhope; he is too
sentlemanly to offer one.”

: fs Certainly | of course you like it! You’ve got a new
ver at first sight!”

“If T have, it’s no fault of mine. If it’s an insult, I am
Powerless to resent it. I have had to submit to a great
many unpleasant things since I left my home. I said it
would be go, but you would not leave me in peace. If you
are offended by people’s regard for me, you have only your-
oe to censure. You can very speedily rid yourself of the
annoyance by sending me home.”

That softened him. His temper cooled, and he wilted
down under the suggestion. Wrath blinded his reason when
Jealousy was aroused, and led him to the extent of abusing
= for others’ offences, until a hint of home subdued his

age,

Hi:
Tad Horace Stanhope possessed the nerve, he would have
murdered her

of life w
se

in a moment of jealous frenzy; but his love
~ Was too strong, and his cowardice too great, for even
ething passion to render him insensible of danger. Ber-
pe had received so many proofs of his pusillanimity, that
she had Ceased to feel any apprehension relative to her per-
Sonal safety.

Horace Stanhope changed his tone and the subject as he
Cooled off.

“And now the rascals have thrown me out of business,
era in ll have to go back to Alonzo’s.”
Fi Sh tay as we left,” she said, dryly.
., . 3 and worse! I can’t pay the rent, now that the
hab te closed me up, to save the world! I could
1e well if they’d left me alone; I was just getting
® good start and plenty of custom.”
athe: wondered at the man’s effrontery. He was throw-
8 ault from his own shoulders upon theirs, as he had

 
 

 

244 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

done upon her father, and that, too, before her wide-awake
eyes !

They went back to Alonzo’s “on the sly,” and the pro-
prietor of Horace Stanhope’s mercantile establishment never
saw his rent-dues! Mrs. James, the landlady, indemnified
herself from the store, or she would have shared the same
faite as their former landlady and the landlord.

Bertha was entirely broken down in spirit. Horace Stan-
hope manifested no concern, saving that of being discovered
by his creditors. He kept close to the premises, and lived
upon his brother’s bounty until Bertha wrote her father:

“ Don’t come. I am going home.”

Horace Stanhope was urging her to go with him farther
North into the country, when she wrote her friends in des-
peration. She said, firmly :

“T will never go farther away from home than I now am,
Mr. Stanhope. I have suffered enough here.”

He fretted and fumed, snuftled and sulked ; but Bertha’s
weakness was all gone — he pleaded in vain,

Horace Stanhope was startled, one day, to see the head
clerk of Cooley & Co., accompanied by other fellow-associ-
ates, enter his brother’s home and inquire for Mrs. Horace
Stanhope. He did not appear before them, but awaited
their departure in an agony of suspense. They looked
pleased and tormentingly polite when they left the parlor.
Green-Eyes saw it all in secret.

“ What’s going on now?” he asked, with half frightened
eyes.

“Pa has sent me funds to take me home. I am going
home to-morrow, Mr. Stanhope. Messrs. Cooley & Co. are
pa’s agents in the matter.”

“The hell they are! How did they know where to find
you?”

“They have my address.”

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 245
« B »
2 ti ——! And so you have betrayed me to them!”
: was not aware of a desire on your part to elude them.
thought —”

“< ¥:

( F . :
3 nu thought! You had no business to think without
Consulting mes”

“<
eee liberty of thinking independently, notwith-
—.. urlordship. Iam a Southerner, Mr. Stanhope.”
a e thought she was, from the fire in her face. It burnt him.
dehitae ae his weak points, and assailed him there,
him downs of insane rate She never failed to bring
eb cae — “ fiery shot. She found the more she yielded
ee matt would impose ; and she was forced, in self-de-
him ia ee y to turn upon him her spirit-battery, to keep
> bay.
Horace Stanhope quailed before the flash of her eye, and

his fur
ury oozed away. He fell across the bed and sobbed

like

ae

dipbiiie boy ; reproaching her, in plaintive tones, for her
e . : A
Y m betraying him, and her contemplated desertion

of on :
© who loved her more than his own life.
But Be

time,

rtha was not to be turned from her purpose this

_
She had seen the end of the test-line, and there was
no loop be

She h:
is ad strength enough to sustain, and friends sufficient to
Shield her,

yond to hang a hope upon. She was going home.

And she went.

 

CHAPTER XLII.

BERTHA ABANDONS A JEALOUS TYRANT.

l was

“ie a bright blue morn in February, when Bertha
ade

a adieu to the great sin-laden city of New York,
ere s¢ ier see ne i
: many wretched days and months of her young life

 
 

 

 

 

246 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

had been passed, and turned her sad face Southward. She
was sad even to tears, for her hopes lay in ruins. There
was no longer a star in the dim horizon of her heart to lead
her hopefully in the future. She was on the wide ocean of
life, drifting without a helm.

Horace was broken down by her firmness, but powerless
to prevent her desertion; and his grief-full face filled her
with sorrow, notwithstanding the past, and want of confi-
dence for the future.

He had put on his most penitent seeming, to turn her
from her purpose; but Bertha knew how long it would last
if she relented, and what would come after. She steeled
her heart, and went firmly forward.

Had Horace Stanhope been brave and manly, he might
have led her to the end of the world; but she had tested
him thoroughly, and could trust him no longer, away from
her friends. They had suffered enough in the past, and she
would no longer punish them and herself for one so worth-
less.

Bertha went like a stoic, but her heart ached for the
unhappiness she was leaving, in one who had wrought it by
his own unworthiness.

“Look, Mrs. Stanhope,” said the good old man-to whose
care her friends had confided her.

Bertha turned her eyes in the direction indicated, and far
away in the blue distance fluttered a white signal. Horace
Stanhope had followed the steamer that bore away his long-
suffering wife, to the extremest point, and waved her fare-
well from the Battery.

Bertha answered it, and the white handkerchief floated in
the morning breeze until distance shut it from her sight.
Then she went down to her state-room, and her full heart
overflowed in tears, until a swift memory came and dried
them up like summer drought. If she were in his power,

s

BERTH A, THE BEAUTY.

how Would he exercise it for her unhappiness. How had he
tr her trust and sacrifice for his sake. How dishonest
ner ale himself toward those who had befriended
dene re extremity, There was no gratitude, indepen-
» Or integrity in him. He was a jealous tyrant, content

to be a burden to his relatives!
Bertha Belmont “ despised meanness ;” and reflection

Upon P : 7 i
I the true character of Horace Stanhope, of which she
Possessed a thorou

With a fe

been a st

gh knowledge, sent her back to the deck
eling of freedom in her young heart that had long

, ranger to her breast. Like a long-imprisoned bird
JUSt escape

> d from its cruel captor, she shook her glad spirit
Wings

» and mounted upward from her late tormentor.
ertha he ;
rtha had vowed, solemnly, in her secret heart, when

She firmly :
St firmly resolved to leave her worthless husband to his
fate, th

2 at she would never return to him until he had proven
himse

If Worthy of respect and confidence. But Horace Stan-

was Ignorant of that vow, and trusted to time and absence

‘hive ried nee, as subsequent events clearly demonstrated.

dedlinga ene had drank of the cup he prepared, and

wih ie is drain it to the dregs, until it was sweetened
) repentance that needeth not to be repented of.”

God te : .
d tempered the wind to the shorn lamb, for the great
cean Jay
. 7?

ing €

hope
to wi

like a lion, asleep; and not a growl or threaten-
die Laon the equanimity of our heroine, as the
stich ’ 1at_bore her to her waiting friends, steamed
g e seething waters.
Bertha felt gratef '
the ok
Pleas

grateful to Him who rules the waves, when

| Captain said he “had never made so quick and
ank oui ‘ : Pe: ;
n ant a time in many a year — shiver his timbers!”
here was evide
See
Old V Irginia !
pened her e
the Mother

ntly no Jonah aboard of that ship |

Bertha’s thin face brightened when she
yes, one morning, and beheld the sacred soil of
of Presidents. Broad, beautiful, sunny lands,

 
 

18 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

sweeping far away as eye could reach. How unlike the
rocky hollows, hedged in by frowning granite hills, with a
patch of wintry sky above and a feeling of frost beneath!

Bertha clasped her small hands, and thanked God that
the sweet, sunny South was her home.

Majestic Potomac! How she loved its blue waters that
flowed from a Southern fountain. The skies looked bluer
and softer, and unresurrected Nature fairer, in a Southern
atmosphere. Silent, solemn, beautiful Mount Vernon lands!
rising abruptly and greenly from the river’s rim, and sweep-
ing back and far beyond the ancient roof that sheltered the
venerable head of the Pater Patrie/

Grand old Fort Washington! — smiling down from its
emerald height as innocently as though no iron instruments
of death lay hidden behind its heavy, deceitful walls!

On, through the white foam and hissing waters ; on through
the singing breezes and purpling twilight; and our heroine,
straining her brown eyes through the evening mist, to catch
the first glimpse of the strange city where her loved ones
looked and longed for her coming, was “safe at home!”

Home — but not beneath the loved roof of her childhood!
Home — but not among the familiar faces that smiled upon
her six long, weary, grief-laden months ago! Home — but
not with the blue, sunny skies of her native State shining
over her!

And yet it was home to our heart-sick heroine, for her
foot touched Southern soil, and her best-loved ones and most
faithful were there. Here she could rest her fading form
and fainting spirit, undisturbed by jealous clouds and re-
pentant showers.

Here she would not be pulled continually from pillow to
post by a dishonest debtor, creeping under cover of dark-
ness from his creditors, without a tinge of shame upon his
brazen cheek, — and sit down in humiliating dependence

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 249

beneath the roof of those upon whom she had no claim but
that which humanity and, worst of all, charity recognizes.
Mr. Belmont had disposed of most of his real estate in
Carolina previous to the reception of Bertha’s letter com-
municating her design to abandon Horace Stanhope. Mrs.
Belmont’s health was declining, and Claude, just verging

upon manhood, longed for change of scene.

They came to the Old Dominion, and settled down in a
pleasant, quiet home, impatiently awaiting the arrival of
our long absent and ocean-rocked heroine.

But few perfectly happy moments are realized by a human
heart in a life-time; and Bertha experienced one of the few
when Mr. Belmont and Claude entered the cabin and caught
her up in their arms.

The kind-hearted captain lingered behind to witness the
Meeting, and turned away with a bright smile and quick
dash of his honest hand across his eyes.

Bertha’s wet eyes widened with astonishment as she
looked upon Claude. The slender boyish form had grown
to manhood in half a year; and Bertha’s small head was
forced to bend far backward to get a good look at his
laughing face as it towered high above her.

Claude said he “had stretched himself to that length,
reaching after her across such wide water and high hills.”

Bertha said, in her home that night, with tender arms
and glad faces around her :

“T°ll never leave you again, mamma. I’veseen the end
of hope for Horace; and now I’ll die at home.”

“Not yet!” sang out Claude, starting up, and shuffling
Over the carpet with old-time boyishness, — “can’t afford it
just yet, sis! You belong to us now, and, dog me, if any-
body else of the human stripe shall ever have you while
‘bub’’s around !”

Uncle Ben poked his black, woolly head in from the

 
as =e SRN Ne 8 8ST

 

 

 

250 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

kitchen, and looked on in solemn silence a while at Claude’s
Terpsichorean performance. Then he said, soberly :

“ Why don’t ye mix it, young mass’r? You makes one
foot do it all — he-a, he-a!”

Claude dropped down in a chair before this critical fire,
and drew both feet under him, as though ashamed of their
ignorance; and Uncle Ben’s head disappeared suddenly,
but his humorous mouth was heard in the distance.

Alone in her quiet chamber, its sweet silence unbroken
by Horace Stanhope’s complainings, reproaches, and itera-
tions of affection unreturned, Bertha looked down the long
lane of departed years, onward through the fate-shadowed
future.

She had tried to do her duty as a wife, but all her
efforts and sacrifices had been vain, and wholly unappre-
ciated by him for whom they were made. She was at home
once more, and she would never desert it again for one s0
undeserving of trust and respect. She had but little hope
of his reformation, and a lonely, isolated life was before
her. No hope of forming new ties, to brighten the pathway
to another state of existence; but year after year to walk
that pathway alone—shut out by a fatal vow from the
nearest and dearest relationship known to mortals!

And what would the world say? The world — cold, un-
feeling, heartless — it ever laid the burden upon the weak,
and let the strong go free. Man might sin grievously, and
be countenanced by the world; but woman must suffer for
ever an apparent wrong !

How unevenly the scales of Justice are balanced in this
wicked world!

But Bertha’s conscience was at rest; and thoughts of
what the world might whisper, of her living apart from her
husband, did not trouble her spirit. She resolved to g0
firmly forward, in the straight and narrow way of duty to

 

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 251

those who loved her most, and obedience to her own con-
Victions of right, and leave the rest to God.

But our heroine soon found the world was disposed to be
More kind and favorable to her than it had shown itself to
Others in a similar situation. Her beauty and retiring
Nature softened its stony heart, and let its latent wenleih
and wooing smiles, leak through its admiring eyes. It
Came around her with new songs of love; but Bertha sadly
Smiled, and informed them of the “insuperable barrier to the
realization of their hopes.”

They told her she might be free by “due process of law,”
and prayed her to suffer them to hope for a favorable
answer in the future; but Bertha’s heart was untouched
and she gently forbade the indulgence of a delusive deltas
for days to come.

Then the face came up from the South, and looked in at
her; and she smiled. But the smile soon died away, and
left her brown eyes weary and wandering. :

“A letter from Green-Eyes!” and Claude held it up
before her, with a turn-up-nose expression.

“What news from afar?” inquired Mr. Belmont, as he
knocked the ashes from his pipe, and spit upon the carpet
in aiming at the grate.

“Horace has left New York city, and is cashier of a
Bank in Buffalo.”

“Well, I pity that Bank!” exclaimed Mr. Belmont
dryly,

‘Me too, Katy,” said Claude, putting one finger on the
end of his nose. x

“Don’t you?” continued Mr. Belmont, looking over his
Spectacles at silent Bertha.

“ . .
I am afraid it won’t prosper, under the circumstances
Unless —” :

 
 

 

 

 

252 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“Prosper! hang me if I don’t believe it’ll burst up in @
week!” exclaimed Mr. Belmont, spitting furiously at the
grate, and hitting the fender.

“Getting rich rapidly, and trying to coax you back to
share his wealth with him, eh?” inquired the old father,
facetiously.

ertha laid the letter in his hand, and went up to her
chamber. Mr. Belmont grunted, indignantly, as he read.

“Just as I expected. The rascal holds up a brilliant

1 i i a: ‘on’t eate artha, in @
light and glittering lure; but he won’t catch Bertha in :
hurry, I’ll wager. That child’s got enough of the Pipl:
ink p y t lik stand’in the fellow’s shoes
think. Well, I would n’t like to stand in t | .
that owns the most stock in that Bank,” he said, soberly, 2
he pulled off his specks, and fed his mouth with “honey-
dew” from his vest-pocket.

« Ain’t it astonishing,” he broke forth, after chewing an¢

} y xr ¢ Mor ae } ore
musing a while, “how that fellow can talk, after acting dog
mean for two years? Why, a stranger would think, from

: ag artll - F > ‘ rer
that loving epistle, he was the worst-used innocent that ee
fell among thieves, and lost all but his honor and drattt “
i ce ee >
devotion! Why, even his brother don’t respect him, “W a
a letter that was from Alonzo, since Bertha came back!
One can see he pities and esteems her, which says plaguey
5 . i it Sey ay 2 he
little for his brother. And now, after all she knows of
rascal, he’s just ninny enough to think he can coax ae
back with chaff! Well, he need n’t try that on, to my min,
for Bertha’s too old a bird, in suffering for his sins, to be

caught again with anything but good bait — I'll wager.”
Bertha was musing, in her chamber, with her round chit

resting upon her small hand, and her introverted eye

turned towards her childhood’s home. Bertha loved the

are 2 She
south window, but her thoughts were not there then. SI

ihe : ae ais Pha inl
was thinking of the letter her father was commenting oP
She wondered if Horace Stanhope fancied she could

/

 

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 253

deceived again? She marvelled at the tone of the missive,
as though he could annihilate her memory at will, and foree
her to believe a falsehood. He might do well in Buffalo,
us he might have done in Williamsville and New York
city, but she doubted seriously if he remained there long,
and did not leave it poorer than he went.

No penniless young man had ever been favored with
better opportunities for accumulating wealth and rendering
himself influential and honored by his fellows than Horace
Stanhope; and yet he had deceived and injured his best
friends by his dishonesty, and brought wretchedness upon
his own head by his worthlessness.

And now he evidently thought to entrap her again by
love-words and affected innocence. If she were with him
then, what would her fate be? Stealing away from his
employer in darkness, or visiting him in prison — left alone
and desolate among utter strangers! Bertha shuddered at
the thought.

Had he been honest, his poverty would not have driven
her from him. Had he been honorable, she would haye
clung to him through all time. It is true she did not love
him when they married, but there was a strange warmth
and leaning in the wife’s heart toward the husband, that the
affianced had not felt for the lover. He might have won
her whole heart by manly forbearance and kindness ; and the
face, that was but a romance of early girlhood, might have
been hidden from her sight forever behind the dearer image
of his own life.

It was only in hours of disappointment and remorse for
having married one so unworthy, that the face looked up,
through the long years, and reproached her. Were she with
him now, she would be but a burden. Could she have aided
him, in New York city, in honorable efforts for a livelihood,
she would not have deserted him. Though accustomed to ease

99
an

 
 

 

 

254 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

and every indulgence at home, it would have been a satis-
faction to her spirit of independence to assist him in his
business; but Horace Stanhope’s green life would not suffer
her to appear before his customers.

Bertha drew a long sigh of relief as she felt her freedom
from such thraldom as she had endured from Horace Stan-
hope, and she felt no desire to repeat the experience of the
past two years. She only hoped he would not fall into
deeper disgrace from his present situation in the Buffalo

Bank.

 

CHAPTER XLIII.
MR. REDMOND SUSPECTS BERTHA’S SECRET.

MY! O me!” and Edalia Eldon sprang into the office
and danced around her husband and uncle, flourishing
a letter as she went.

“What the deuce ails the girl!” exclaimed Mr. Red-
mond, looking after her, with his head in a whirl occasioned
by her rapid movements. “Out with it, Ed.”

‘Bertha the Beauty’ has abandoned that rascal Stan-
hope for good and all, and is safely sheltered in the nest-
home in Alexandria.”

She dropped upon Walter’s lap, and hugged him around
the neck until he affected strangulation, and opened his
mouth, gasping for breath, to the young wife’s great amuse-
ment.

“For good and all!” growled Mr. Redmond. “That
means, until he comes around her whining again, with new
protestations of penitence for past villany and promises of

 

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 255

better behavior in future. Hell cheat her back again, I'l
bet two chincapins — by Jupiter!”

“No. Bertha ’ll never leave her home again for any
such rascal. She’s run the full length of the test-line, and
now, if he gets her, he’ll have to ‘ put off the old man with
his deeds,’ and furnish good proof of his honesty. I know
Bertha; she won’t trust him again until he’s trustworthy.
You may bet ail your chincapins on that, uncle.”

“ Well, I hope so, for he’s the most worthless scamp that
ever owned a wife—by Jupiter! If she’d deserted him
twelve months ago, it. would have been better for her and
her family, a dog sight! He’s broke Belmont up bodily,
for he sold his property for just nothing, to go to her; and
now it can’t be bought for double the amount that Mezer
gave for it. I know that, for I tried it on, last court. It’s
about the finest location in town ; and if Belmont had n’t
been crazy about his daughter, he never would have sold the
house where his children were born — or, more properly
Speaking, given it away—for it’s little more than that.
Mezer made a great bargain there, and chuckles over it
now. If I’d known the old man’s intention, I would
have saved him such a sacrifice. But some men’s soul all
lies in their pocket, both north and south of Mason and
Dixon’s.”

“Poor Bertha grieves over the loss of ‘the house where I
was born,’ and if she’d been aware of her father’s design,
he never would have sold it. But Mr. Belmont rented it
eleven years, you know — during their residence in the low

brown house with the long piazza —and had it so badly
abused by tenants, he concluded it would be about the
cheapest way to sell, especially as he expected never to re-
turn to Carolina. I’m sure, from the tone of this letter,
Bertha would be happier in her old home, though she says
nothing detrimental to her present one. Her description of

 
 

 

 

256 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

it is quite poetic. I shouldn’t wonder a bit if Bertha
turned authoress now, uncle.”

“ Why so, chatterbox?”

Mr. Redmond declared, with a merry twinkle of his blue
eye, that ‘Ed, the scamp, had grown wild as a deer, and
tormented him to death with her interminable tongue, since
her marriage with the bug’s nominee for President! He
could n’t muse a minute, or take a nap on the sofa, without
having his hair pulled or a red rag tied to his coat-tail —
by Jupiter!”

Edalia’s temperament had changed wonderfully since her
happy union with Walter Eldon. Her pensive cast had all
evanished with her loss of individuality; and a happy heart
made a merry countenance and music day-long in her sun-
shiny home. She was a loved and loving wife, and life lay
blossom-crowned before her, seemingly one long unclouded
summer-bright day.

«Why so, chatterbox ?”

“ Because, uncle, it is said a poetic temperament only
requires some adverse circumstance to develop its powers ;
and Bertha comes under that rule. She has the ‘divine
afflatus’ in an eminent degree, and I think she certainly has
‘learned in suffering’ quite enough to ‘teach in song.’ I
fancy I see premonitions of a literary career in this most
remarkable letter.’ And Edalia read it aloud to the ad-
miring gentlemen.

“Well, that reads like a book,” said the old man, with a
gratified snap of his bright eyes ;— “’t would n’t look bad
in print, either. If Bertha ever tries her hand with the
author’s pen she ’ll sueceed — I’1l go my bet on that!”

And Bertha had tried and succeeded ; but safely sheltered
beneath a friendly nom de plume. She learned enough of
her powers, and the appreciation of the public, in her secure
retreat, to come forth bravely, at last, self-conscious and

 

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

self-sustaining; and twelve months after her abandonment
of her worthless husband, “ Bertha Belmont Stanhope” was
favorably known to the literary world. She learned to live
a new and happier life in the Vale of Tempe, than she had
ever known in by-gone years ; and her troubled spirit calmed
in the lulling waters of Helicon.

Our heroine grew stronger in the daily exercise of scram-

bling up the rugged heights of Parnassus, where she aught

warmer glimpses of the life far above this cold and sordid
arth, from her ideal stand-point.

Mr. Redmond entered his home, one day, with a remark-
ably elastic step for a man of his age, and a queer smile
about his eyes and mouth. He held an open paper in both
hands.

Minnie was sitting with Edalia; and Charlie, her bright
boy, was expressing his delight at the tiny white face in
Walter’s arms. Mr. Redmond .was a grand-uncle, and made
a wry face at the ancient sound,

“T say, Ed, it’s come at last; you said so! But it’s got
the heart-ache, and I’ve caught it — poor child!”

“What is it, Uncle Ned?” and Minnie’s eyes widened.

“ Bertha Belmont Stanhope’s first poem, in the ‘ Williams-
ville Banner,’ as pretty a bud as ever opened in springtime!
but it’s got a big bright tear in it, by Jupiter!”

“Q-h-h!” and Minnie made a lunge at the paper, and
succeeded in capturing it.

“We'll have more of the same sort, too; for the editor
tells us ‘he is happy to announce to his readers — many of
whom are personally acquainted with the fair and gifted
author —that he has been so fortunate as to engage her as
a regular contributor.’ Bertha’s bound to shine in the
literary galaxy, I see that. What’s the matter, Min?”

“T’ve swallowed that tear, and it chokes me, Uncle Ned!”

“T thought so, by Jupiter! I’d like to see the heart that

22 * R

 
 

 

258 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

would n’t melt in that heat! It sounds just as Bertha used
to look —plaintive and heart-broken. I wonder if that
child did n’t meet with some disappointment in early youth?
She always looked as though she had lost something, and
was trying to think where she had dropped it. I’ve always
had the impression she was in love when she left the low
brown house with the long piazza, but I never let it out
before. Don’t you girls know? There! I thought so, by
Jupiter! What are you crossing eyes about? I won't let
the cat out.”

“ Bertha has acknowledged as much, uncle; but I haven’t
the slightest clue to the discovery of the individual, unless
it is Edward Redmond, Esquire, as I suggested, years ago.
You would n’t act upon the suggestion, and ask her?”

“ Fiddlesticks! p-h-e-w! get out!” growled the old man,
with a frowning brow and a dash of humor in his eyes.
“May and December don’t mate well, or I might have been
tempted to try it, and save her from that green-eyed, grace-
less Stanhope. But seriously, young folks, I think I have
the key that locks up the secret in Bertha’s heart, and just
shows its head in that poem.”

“ Do tell, Uncle Ned!”»—and Minnie sidled up, coax-
ingly.

“Shan’t do it till I’m convinced of the fact, and there’s
no danger of betraying what she has so long concealed. I’ve
watched her too closely, from childhood, not to have read
something of her hidden nature, and —”

“Oh, you have!—so, so!” interrupted Minnie, dipping
down and peering significantly into his sober face, —“that
lets the cat out on t’ other side, Uncle Ned!”

“Oh, blast the —I mean, bless the girl! T can’t walk
soberly into a serious subject without getting my foot in the
mud of a foreign and facetious matter. Hanged if I’ll
keep such company — by Jupiter!”

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 259

The old gentleman rocked himself out of the room, with
an unusually red face, and both hands punching out his
Coat-flaps, with shouts of laughter following him from the
“young folks.”

“T wonder whom he suspects?” said Minnie, softly.

“Can’t imagine,” responded Edalia.

“The man in the moon,” suggested Walter.

“Walter, maybe,”— and Minnie laid one rosy finger
across her red mouth and looked cunningly around.

“Missed the mark, then. Bertha never loved me.”

“ How do you know?”

“T couldn’t be deceived. If she had, she might have won
me when Ed was ice! I half died for some one to love me,
when I was a poor, lone boy. But it’s all over now,” he
said, hastily, as tears started to Edalia’s eyes, — “and the
darkness of the past only renders the present brighter.”

 

CHAPTER XLIV.

BERTHA’S NERVES RECEIVE A SUDDEN SHOCK.

\ HAT is it?”

Bertha was standing before the mirror, gazing half
sadly at the image reflected therein.

And what was Bertha thinking about? And why the
self-query ?

She was wondering what it was in that pale, pensive face
that was so attractive. She could see no beauty there, and
wondered at the strange fascination that pale, pensive face
possessed for others.

She had just parted with a new suitor —a stranger, and

 
 

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

minister of the gospel. Bertha was pleased by such a con-
quest, but his sad, half despairing eyes, as she informed him
of her situation, pained her memory.

Edwin Langley had seen her yesterday for the first time;
to-night he had declared himself her lover. Bertha was
startled by the sudden and unlooked-for declaration. She
knew his piety and worth by reputation; and the noble
heart that ached in his expressive eyes at bidding her and
his hopes farewell, pained her own sympathizing heart.

And our heroine stood before the mirror, in her silent
chamber, and examined the pale, sickly, sad face, with its
mournful brown eyes and small, grieving mouth, and mar-
velled at its strange power. Here, as in her childhood’s
home, she was still “Bertha the Beauty,” though twenty-
two years had gone over her head, and four of those years
filled to overflowing with deep soul-suffering. Bertha won-
dered that the golden-brown curls, put plainly away from
her veined forehead behind her small ears, were not as white
as the marble-like cheeks they bordered, when she wandered
through the past, in thought, and stood in the black shadows
of her fate. She was not happy, for her life had been a
failure —her girlish dreams of the future lay in ruins upon
the wayside of the dead years, and she was alone, though
surrounded by loving hearts. There was a great void in
her life, that ached day-long and far into the night with its
emptiness.

She had won fame with her fire-tipped pen; her poems
were transcripts of the heart that wrestled with its dark
destiny ; and they took firmly hold of the heart that read,
and showered back praise upon the author. But that did
not satisfy. The poor lone heart that sang the low requiem
of its earthly life ached on, and was hungry still.

“T say, sis,—do you remember Perey Ormund, the nice

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 261

young fellow who boarded a while with us in the low brown
house with the long piazza?”

This was Claude’s query to Bertha, as he came in from
“down town,” one day.

Our heroine’s head was bent over the MS. before her,
and Claude could not see her face. She had turned toward
him, as he entered, with her accustomed smile of welcome ;
but ere the query was ended, the small head was bent lower
than when he entered her presence, and the clustering curls
fell over the face that was averted more than was necessary
to accommodate her vision to the MS. before her.

“Yes, I do remember, now,” she said, after a slight
hesitation.

“Well, the old boy has been ‘histed’ to a high post in
Carolina by the appreciating people. I’ve just seen the
announcement in print.”

“T want tew know!—yeou don’t say!” said Bertha,
turning full upon Claude, and screwing her small mouth
facetiously.

“T swan tew man if it ben’t a fact ! — shiver my timbers!”
responded Claude, catching at the reminder, and exploding
With mirth.

“Well, I’m truly glad to hear of the old boy’s luck,”
Continued Claude, delightedly,— “he was just about the
finest young fellow that ever stood five feet eleven in his
boots before he was twenty. I’d like to know if he’s grown
much taller since ‘old pod-anger days.’ If he has, he don’t
have to pay tax in this country, now that he’s twenty-nine!
He was only nineteen then. How the years do fly!” he
added, musingly, without looking at Bertha. “I was only
twelve then, and now I’m twenty-two. Heigh-ho! quite
an old man, and not married yet! I wonder if Percy is?”

“ Beyond a doubt,” said Bertha, scratching away with a
pen, her head bent low over the sheet before her.

 
 

 

262 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“The old -fellow tried to get back as a private pupil of
pa’s, you remember, don’t you?”

“T believe I have a faint remembrance,” said Bertha,
carelessly.

“And if pa had n’t refused, we might know more about
him now. A longer acquaintance might have led to some-
thing lasting. Who knows?” he asked, looking archly
around; but Bertha’s face was invisible.

“Tut!” she said, without lifting her veiled face; but
comprehending his insinuation, “nothing but children we
were.”

“He was a pretty big child then, I must say. I wonder
why he wished to return as a private pupil, with such edu-
vational advantages in his own city. You were a wee bit
of a brat then, and I was too small for suspicion; but dog,
if I don’t smell a mice at this late day! I wish it had been
a bee, for he was a noble young fellow; and then you would
have missed that green-eyed, roguish Stanhope! I wonder
where the rascal will turn up next, now that he’s sold his
handsome house, and left Batavia —ha, ha!” .

“I can’t imagine.” Bertha dropped the pen, and turned
around now. “ Not here, I hope, with his reputation.”

“Tt would n’t be well for him!” growled Claude; “he’d
carry off a coat of tar and feathers, if he didn’t bring a
better character than he’s got up there! I wonder why the
fellow don’t leave the world, and take a tree to hide his
infamous head! And then to tax his Yankee cunning to
get you back, when he can’t take care of himself, — the
dishonest dog! I wish he’d keep his letters to himself—
they ’re sickening!”

“ He will, in future. He means to apply for a divorce,
‘on the ground of abandonment,’ unless I return. I shall
write him no more.” :

“Good — by George!” shouted Claude, starting up with

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 263

abound. “Go it, old green-eyes and rogue ! — nobody ’Il
Stop you!” he cried, jubilantly, overturning a chair, as he
cut the pigeon-wing around the room.

“Well, that’s the best news I’ve heard in six years!”
he said, as he sobered down and replaced the chair, “I
don’t want that name hung on to mine any longer, and I
would have cut it loose, long ago, if it could have been
done. But as you deserted him, it made it a hard matter
for you to clip it off. I thank the rascal for the only favor
he ever did us in all his days, if, indeed, he does it now!
I’m afraid it’s too good to be true!”

“T shall know through Alonzo. I wrote him last night.”

“And did n’t tell me! Why did you keep dark?”

“TI wished to get the truth first ; but you drew me out.”

“Well, the Lord knows I hope he’ll put it through !
And if he does, just drop that name, like a hot potato, It
burns my pride and honor, I swan!” said gay Claude,
laying himself back at full length in the old arm-chair,
and opening his mouth with a long, heart-full laugh.

Bertha caught up the paper before her and went up the
Stairs, as Mr. Belmont entered the sitting-room. She trem-
bled as she went, and her face was strangely white, but
there was a burning light in her brown eyes, and a soft
Smile upon her delicate lips.

She did not sit down in her chamber, but wandered rest-
lessly to and fro. Then she went to the mirror and scruti-
nized her countenance; but her eyes soon went by her own
Shadow, and she saw another face— the face that had fol-
lowed her ten long, weary, struggling years! And Bertha
looked into the mild, spiritual eyes, smiling faintly through
the dark distance, as they had smiled in the low brown
house with the long piazza, and her lips syllabled the
name “Percy!” She had not breathed it before, since she
Stood at the bridal altar with Horace Stanhope.

 
 

 

 

264 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

But now she was free — his sins had separated them for-
ever; and it was no wrong to breathe that cherished name.
She was free to dwell in loving remembrance upon that
face, but not free to wear his name, even if he were still
unbound by silken fetters; and it was relief to her long-
caged spirit to flutter away from its cold prison, and wander
at will in the warm sunshine of early years.

He had in all probability forgotten her, the timid little
child of fourteen, who had carried his memory in her heart,
despite her efforts to shut it out, from a sense of duty and
honor, and brought it up the long lane of the past to dwell
upon Now without self-reproach ; he would perhaps never
know the lasting impression of his noble life upon the green
leaf of a few short days in the “long ago;” but she was
free to reflect now, and liberty was sweet.

A breath of childhood days came over her as she stood
there dreaming, with face bowed upon her hand —a feeling
of youth, and hope, and happiness.

He had never said he loved her, but Bertha felt its exist-
ence, when she met his beaming eyes in those sun-bright
days, when they dwelt beneath the same moss-covered roof;
and had he been permitted to return to the low brown
house with the long piazza, how different might have been
her fate!

She was too sensitive to intercede in his behalf when Mr.
Belmont received his*written request* she would have suf-
fered martyrdom sooner than betray her heart-secret ; and
a negative answer was returned. Tt sealed her doom!

Bertha shuddered as she reached this point, and turned
away from the contemplation of her fate.

Was it not strange, she mused, that his name had been
sounded in her ear for the first time since that fatal nine
teenth of June ?— now that she was but just free to hear it
spoken without an inward ache —a soul-longing and pain

 

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 265

that must have betrayed her to unsuspecting Claude, even
though her face was concealed. :

Had it been uttered in the presence of Horace Stanhope,
She doubted her firmness to sustain the shock. But now
she was free; and though Percy might be bound, she was

Innocent in heart in dwelling upon the memory of their

early love, that budded far back in the silvery morn, and
still blossomed on in the setting sunlight of ten long,
Weary, struggling years agone!

CHAPTER XLV.

“oLD FOLKS AT HOME.” — BERTHA’S TALENTS
DISCUSSED.

T was a mild and sunny May morning.

Mr. Eldon, senior, sat in his easy-chair beside an open
Window —an escape-valye for the white, perfumed cloud
that curled upward from his parted lips, — watching, with
evident satisfaction, the eagerness and activity of sprightly
Edward Wilmer — Edalia’s three-year-old —as he climbed
up the chair-rounds, and contended for the late paper, over
the tiny form of blue-eyed baby Eya, fast asleep in Mr.
Redmond’s arms.

Two manly arms slipped from behind Edalia over her
shoulders, crossing under her chin, and a loving voice ex-
claimed :

“ A letter from Agnes, little wife.”

“Excellent! Charming!”

“What? Let’s have it, Ed,” and Mr. Redmond threw
down his paper.

23

 
 

 

266 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY,

“Agnes is wedded to her early love, and comes to Caro-
lina in September, to hibernate.”

“Good! Agnes is a noble girl; and, by Jupiter! I once
thought the little witch w 3

Walter smiled.

“T owe Agnes a debt of gratitude, sir, for it was throuch
her that I discovered the dawning of Edie’s love. I pers
mitted the current report of my betrothal to her, to mark
the effect upon the genuine object of my hopes; and the full
conviction of reciprocal affection well-nigh surprised me
into a downright declaration.” 1

“Capital, by Jupiter! But your pride got the ascendancy,
eh? I say, hang (Ed, you scamp, get off of my toe!) all
lovers’ pride! But yonder comes Min, with her red cheeks
and fun-loving eyes—the same old Minnie Montrose, for
mischief and mirth. She sent me a snail, this morning,
with a written request that I’d ‘try my fortune, for it wis
not good that man should he ¢ Bin

Minnie entered, |
Ed right bravely in
carpet. ‘

as bound to upset my air-castle.”

ulone’ — the gipsy.”
ading Charlie, who locked arms with

“ Have you heard the news, good people?”
“ No— yes —the snail?”

“Ha! ha! he! he! —no. Colonel Henley led the amiable

REP ‘ ;
widow Tomlin to the hymenial altar at the s sasonable hour

of six, this morning, and they ’re off to Niagara on a bridal
tour.”

Mr. Redmond started bolt-upright.

“ Thun-der/ Well, there could n’t a-been a better match
scared up between the two oceans, He may take Ais turn
at the ‘grindstone,’ now —eh, Wall; my boy? Ifshe don’t
pepper his dish for ’im, I’m hanged ! Dll be
by Jupiter!”

2) a pees, . ” : x
Poor Tomlin!” said Mr. Eldon, “a nobler boy never

t on the woman,

 

a rough-and-tumble exercise over the’

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 267

gave promise of noble things. I’m told his wealth and
extraneous influence won him his heartless bride; and his
domestic life impelled him to ‘fly to ills he knew not of,
rather than ‘bear the ones he had.’”

“ Pre-cisely! And there’s many a poor fellow in the
same fix. A termagant’s tongue will lash ’most any man
into kingdom come before this time; and if Henley don’t
run the gauntlet, and pay dear for the whistle, there never
was a Franklin. Charles would a-been a second Tomlin, if
he’d had a Tomlin’s wife—eh, Min? All the Father
Matthews, and salt in the sea, would n’t a-saved ’im. Poor
Tomlin! I reasoned with him on his desperate course, a
few days before that grim monster manta-a-potu sent him
to his long home; and, said he:

“Squire Redmond, I’l] stick a pin there, to everything
you’ve said. God bless you, Squire, I know you’re right;
but I don’t want to live, and I ain’t fit to die: so I just
split the difference, and go to heaven ina “horn.” I say,
Squire, if Job had shivered in my shoes, we never should
a-heard of him. No two ways about that,’

“Well, all this won’t justify him in the day of final ac-
counts; but Tomlin was no Socrates, and died the death of
an Abner.” :

“And moreover and furthermore,” continued Minnie,
adopting phraseology that smacked of the legal profession,
“Peter is preparing an oration for the ‘Glorious Fourth,’
and sent to the city, by Charles, this morning, for Spurz-
heim’s Philosophy, and Combe’s Constitution of Man.”

“Ha! ha! Well, I’m bound to hear that, by Jupiter!
(Providence permitting.) I say, Walter, won’t it be tall ?—
away up in the seventh story of human nature’s habitation
—a regular aéronautic expedition. The way he will dive
into Webster, and bring up the grand progenitors, in such
order as would make the old Lexicographers ‘two eyes

 
 

 

 

268 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

start from their spheres,’ and Ignorance cry, ‘a kingdom for
a horse.’
“ Peter speculates largely on a small capital, and verifies

the assertion of the poet toa T:—‘a little learning is a
dangerous thing.’ What he has drank of the ‘Pierian
Spring’ won’t stagnate for want of stirring. His acquire-
ments are emphatically pro bono publico. I’m afraid Peter’s
destined to perpetual celibacy.”

“Like you, Uncle Ned? —’hem!

How does the snail
prosper ?”
I

“Humph! reckon it’s doing pretty well, considering. I
gave it a through-ticket on the aérial railway, and a deed
‘signed, sealed, and delivered to itself, its heirs and assigns,’
in the presence of Aunt Cora, witness to all out-doors.”

“Now?”

“Fact, by Jupiter !”

“Then Ephraim is joined to his idols, in all conscience!”

“Point-blank ; you’ve hit the nail plump on the head.
By the way, Min, it ’s just seven years to-day since you and
Ed consulted the oracle,”

“ T did n’t.”

“Sure enough. But I’ll bet two chincapins, you might
have found another bug under that old maple.”

ce)

Cause why?”

“T saw two there myself.”

The old gentleman’s eyes
twinkled.

“Oh, ho! —‘thereby hangs a tale’ And I’ll double the
bet, that you ‘saw’ the letters made in the plate too.”

“Fiddlesticks! I didn’t land the bug in the meal.”

“Just so! but you left a ‘land’-mark in the bottom, —say,
Uncle Ned?”

“Shan’t do it! I’m counsel for defendant ; no State’s
evidence in me. Seen Ed’s dressing-case, Min ?”
“ Never did till her wedding-day.”

 

trex 9RF
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 269

“ W-h-e-w! so there’s one woman who can keep a oe
Well, that’s the very identical shell — the real Simon Pure
—that Ed said grace over once upon a time, I had it fixed
in that fashion so’s to ‘keep her pure mind stirred up, by
way of remembrance.’ Ha! ha! I say, bless the bug, by Ju—

Oo! oo! Ed, you rascal, let ’e go my hair,

’ ; 7 ; aral
’Cause, you see, I have n’t, sir, a single bit to spare!

The old gentleman started up, amazed at the spontaneity
of his poetic genius, and stepped about the room exultingly,
; = ; . . .
with Ed and Charlie swinging to his coat-tails, and little

Eva’s big blue eyes shining over his shoulder.

“ Almost as good as Bert’s, I declare,” said Minnie, draw-
ing down her mouth with affected solemnity. id

“The wise man tells us ‘there is a time for all things,
and I have been biding mine. Here is news for friendship’s
ear, with your permission,” said Walter, looking up from
ar, j
the paper before him.

“ What is that, pray?” and Minnie stretched her neck to
read the title.

oe , 9%

“The * Williamsville Banner.

“You selfish thing!” said Minnie, making a grab at the
paper.

“Hold on!” and Walter put the paper behind him, pro-
vokingly. ‘I’m to be spokesman.

gi) ee dl
“ Well, hurry then, for I’m walking on eggs.
“Or a bed of hot ashes,” suggested Mr. Redmond, shut-
be « oo

ting one eye and turning the other up.

“Buds and Blossoms’ is the title of a work now in moe

‘faci i ” Berths ; t, wel
P facile ¢ rigorous pen of Bertha Belmont,

from the facile and vig I aoe 1 clonmeen 4
known in this section as ‘Bertha the Beauty. g
and accomplished correspondent very justly enjoys an ex-
tensive reputation, ranking among the first authors of our
ne } “4 ¢ ats) 3)
country, though young in years; and we are confident her

o
23 *

 
 

 

 

270 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

present forthcoming volume will sustain her renown as a
writer. It will be issued at an early day. Any of our read-
ers who would like to procure’a copy of this new work can
be furnished, just as soon as it shall be given to the public,
by leaving their names with us.

“There is a mournful, soul-touching beauty about the
poetry of this lady, that appeals directly to the tenderest
feelings of our nature.

“ Miss Belmont is a lady of rare taste and cultivation,
and, to our fancy, one of the most original, natural, and
beautiful poets of the day. She has recently taken a prize
from the literati of the ‘Athens of America,’ ”

“Miss Belmont! What the deuce does: that mean?”
Mr. Redmond started up, and looked at Edalia for a solu-
tion of the mystery.

“T expect Bertha is divorced, uncle.”

“You ‘expect’! What do you know, I say?”

“Nothing ‘fur shore,’ as Aunt Cora says, but I’ve had a
hint from Bertha relative to her anticipations — that’s all.”
“Why, she could n’t obtain one yet; she deserted him.”

“She bound me over to keep the peace; but as the deed is
no doubt done, it won’t be a breach of confidence to speak
now. Stanhope threatened to apply for a divorce from her
if she did n’t return to him, and I presume he has executed
the threat.”

“Ha! ha! Well; that’s the best deed he ever did in
his life, I haven’t a doubt. I didn’t think it was in him to
be so charitable, by Jupiter! The rascal’s after another to
torment to death—TI’ll het all the chincapins that drop
next Fall. Found the game was up with Bertha, and
shuffled the cards for a new cut.. I reckon Bertha don’t
sare, eh?”

“T reckon not,” said Edalia, with a queer smile about
her firm mouth.

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 271

“Well now, I hope Belmont and Claude will mind their
Own business, and let her make her own choice next time,”
8rowled Mr. Redmond.

“She won’t marry another Yankee, I’ll warrant!” laughed
Minnie, clapping her hands, and giving Mr. Redmond’s hair
& pull over the chair-top.

“O-u-c-h! you ought to marry a Yankee, to get the mis-
Chief taken out of you — you witch! ”

“Stanhope applied ‘on the ground of abandonment.’ Does
that leave Bertha free to marry again, uncle?” inquired
Edalia.

“Well, no — not morally free; but the world winks at
Such marriages. * If Stanhope marries again, then Bertha
“an obtain a divorce on Scriptural grounds. But I doubt
if she would ever apply, even if he should rise to the sur-
face again — she’s too shrinking.”

“Who is ‘he,’ Uncle Ned? P-Le-a-s-e tell, you old wise-
Acre. It won’t do any hurt now; Bertha is free,” pleaded
Minnie, sweetly, putting one arm around the old man’s neck.

“Oh, you may hug me much as you please, but you won’t
honey that secret out with sugar, by Jupiter!” said Mr,
Redmond, winking at the grate.

CHAPTER XLVI.

HORACE STANHOPE’S DIVORCE. — CLAUDE “TRIES HER
FAITH.”

\ J] HAT does Alonzo say?” inquired Mr. Belmont, with

a half-smile about his mouth, but an anxious, doubt-

ful expression in his eager eyes, as Bertha finished the long

letter just received, o

 
 

 

272 BERTHA, THE B EAUTY.

“T am free,” answered Bertha, trying to look sober, but
her eyes betrayed her.

“ Has the fellow really got a divorce?”

“Yes, sir; Alonzo is reliable.”

“ Well now, I’m satisfied,” said gay Claude. “ Ill for
give him for all the past on the strength of this one favor:
I believe I really love the rascal, now that he ’s out of the
way. Dog if I wasn’t afraid I ’d come home some day and
find the fellow had spirited you off again. He cheated us

twice, and if he’d come around the third time, I might ’

have given him something that would put me in a clos?
place. Now you are free from him, but not at liberty 0
put your neek in another noose — understand that. I shan’t
favor another suitor, you ’d better believe!”

Bertha looked him steadily in the eyes.

“J know I am not free to marry again, im a moral sense;
but if I were, and had a thousand suitors, it would be 48
vain for you, or any one, to attempt to influence or control
me, against my will, as it was easy in the past.”

“Ug! that steps on my toe!” grunted facetious Claude,
wrinkling up his face; “ and yours too, landlord,” nodding
at his pleased father. “I reckon we won’t meddle with that
female Hercules any more till she gets ready to slip through
— hey?”

Mr. Belmont was shaking with inaudible laughter, and

chewing rapidly. He gave a loud squirt from his full

mouth towards the spittoon, and answered :

“T shan’t put my finger into any more pies. A burnt
child dreads the fire, and if her next dish ain’t well cooked,
it won’t be my fault. She may bake her own cake next
time.”

“Tf she does, I’ll make it burn, I 1] bet!” said Claude,
frowningly. “Ishan’t agree to have any more brother-it

law, if he is a doctor —eh, sis?”

 

 

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. aid

“Oh, now I see the point,” laughed Bertha. “Don’t be
alarmed about Zelmar, Bud; he is n’t of my religious faith,
or nation. He’s harmless.” é

“No; but did n’t he tell you, last night, he ’d go with his
wife to the church she preferred, and ‘all that sort 0” thing,’
you know?” 2

Precisely ; but I don’t believe all I hear nowadays.”

And then he’s so handsome and highly educated —
Speaks a dozen languages, writes poetry, plays the piano
Sultar, jews-harp, and dances like a duck in a samuiset
Shower. Love him a little hey ?”

; Ha! ha! haw!” roared Mr. Belmont.
“If Bertha ever marries again, I hope he will be a South-
€rner,” said Mrs. Belmont, smilingly.
“Hem! that ain’t saying much for me!” exclaimed the
shes man, looking over his shoulder at his wife, humorously.
: But it is for your daughter,” laughed the loving mother,
So the doctor’s jig is up, is it?” asked persistent Claude.
5 He’ll never be your relative — sure.”
ow ‘
ene cant aes
, as a man and friend, but I
don’t want any more brother-in-law around, unless —” He
pursed up his mouth and looked ‘intelligently at Bertha.

Halloo! what are you blushing about?” continued the

teasing brother.
“Curiosity, I suppose. ‘Unless’ what?”

Claude shook his head threateningly at his father, and
Mr. Belmont winked significantly back.

“Unless Harry Herbert should turn up with the tide
Some day.”

“Bless me! You don’t really mean it?”

a He’s one of the best men in the world, and starved
himself three days and nights, after you married that
Tascal,”

8

 
 

 

274 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

,

“I know he’s good and worthy, but I don’t love him.
And Bertha’s countenance testified to her truthfulness.

“There, I’m at sea again,” said Claude, with a well-satis-
fied smile. “TI ‘only did it to try your faith,’ sis. Stanhope
was so terribly jealous of that man, I thought perhaps he
had provoked you into loving him. They say it does have
that effect sometimes; but here is one exception, I see
Herbert left town after you did, and was lost sight of. I
reckon we’ll not hear of him again.”

And satisfied Claude went out, whistling, “I dream of
all things bright.”

“Bertha the Beauty” lost the look of pain that had dwelt
in her brown eyes through long years, after the close of het
correspondence with Horace Stanhope. She enjoyed her
liberty more, because her bonds hurt her pride and self
respect, She had been tied to a dishonest, godless mortal;
and felt humbled in her own eyes. She was ashamed of
him, and of herself for being a part of him. She had never
felt so light-hearted as when she read Alonzo’s affectionate
letter. She was free now, even from his name. The laW
gave her the privilege of renouncing or retaining it; and
Bertha decidedly preferred the first.

Dr. Zelmar — the new suitor to whom Claude referred —
colored furiously, and Bertha saw his hand tremble as he
read the first poem accompanied by her changed name
He proposed immediately, and was rejected, as gently as 4
heart full of esteem and sympathy could refuse a favor:
He returned the third time, and then removed from the city:

Bertha destroyed every letter that bore the name of het
late husband, and began life anew. She had no intentiod
of ever enteripg into a second alliance—she did not coD-
sider herself free to do so in the sight of heayen. She was
wedded to literature, and the union was a happy one.

A year passed away after our heroine’s full freedom from

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY, 275

I apes ig .
Torace Stanhope. Her book had rendered her distinguished
a
nd popular. She had many stranger correspondents, both

North

rs and South; and constant calls from persons curious
0 be

hold the young authoress,

La a] Be a F Se > . r
The Rev. Mr. Nettleton, of Batavia, N. Y., was one of
1er visitors,

Claude improved his opportunity to inquire, with off-hand
Carelessness :

6 . “ e ° ° .
Did you know Horace Stanhope during his residence in
Your city?”

itd . .
I knew him well, by reputation, both there and else-
Ww lere,”?

“ . . . (>
I knew him in North Carolina some years ago, for a
8 7 ° . . . *p :
“ort time. How is he succeeding in life?”

“ . . . ~ . .
He has succeeded in rendering himself odious, by his

dishonesty and dissolute habits. He left Batavia between
two days to elude the law; and I’m told, by a lady who
Was intimate with his wife —”
“His wife ?— married there, did he?” said Claude, try-
& to hide his delighted surprise and look indifferent.
“No; he was married when he came to Batavia.”
“Ah! I heard from him during his stay there, but was
Not informed of his marriage. Who was his wife?

“ Miss Louisa Demming, of Rochester.”

“ Nice lady?” said Claude, ca relessly,

in

“She is said to have been a very quiet and nice woman
~~™much respected by all who were acquainted with her.
But the reputation of the man was not of the best kind.
He was thought to be a very fast liver, and not at all cal-
Culated to set the Atlantic ocean on fire,”

“And what has become of the fast man?” inquired
Claude, with facetious indifference,

“Well, he was engaged in the mercantile business in
Batavia, and in process of time failed, and left the place in

 
 

 

 

 

 

276 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

a clandestine manner —‘ between two days,’ as they say of
him —since which time no one there has had any knowl
edge of him. But there is a lady residing in Corfu who was
ou the most intimate terms with Stanhope’s wife, who tells
me, when last heard from, he was in Cleveland, Ohio, en-
gaged in the photograph business. But I dare say he has
failed by this time —that was two months ago,” said Mr.
Nettleton, with a spice of scorn and contempt for the “fast”
man.

“ He was rather fast in Carolina,” returned Claude, with
a humorous expression about his eyes, — “so fast, in fact,
that he outstripped his good name, and left the title of
Yankee in very bad odor in a Southern atmosphere. He
seems to be peculiarly unfortunate.”

“Yes, in every respect; for when in Batavia he was ligg
ing with a second wife, though his first wife was still living,
I’m told.”

“ Possible!’ Claude stooped to pick up something 0?
the carpet, and the exercise reddened his cheeks. “ Married
twice, ch, —at his age?”

“Only a short time to the first; and if his second wife
would follow the example of her ‘ illustrious predecessor,’ it
is thought it would be much to. her advantage and hono!
Perhaps she will, yet. They have been married but a few
months.”

“Did you know aught of his first wife?” persisted Claude,
soberly. “I feel quite interested in the rascal’s history:
What was she — her name — and where from? I liked the
fellow well at one time.”

“So did every one, at first acquaintance. He was gentle
manly — very —but could n’t bear scrutiny. He was #
natural rogue, and had no religion to modify his misfortune
As to his first wife, I know nothing with regard to her, only
that she is yet living — or was, a few months ago. Stanhop®

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 277

” as a clerk in New York city; from there he went to Buf-
falo, and engaged in the jewelry business, and — 4

“T understood he was cashier in ‘The People’s Money-
Saving Bank’ of that city,” interrupted Claude, with open
eyes,

“ Well, I don’t know about that; hardly think it can be
true, as it would, in all probability, have made a noise

before he left, judging from subsequent events. He could n’t

get that situation there now, if he ever held it — I predict,”
returned Mr. Nettleton, dryly.

Claude Belmont, the jovial, lay flat down upon the carpet,
and rolled as far under the piano as the music-stool would
allow, when the hall-door closed upon Mr. Nettleton.

“ Well,” said Claude, his black hair tangled over his fore-
head, and his good-natured mouth spread with soul-satisfac-
tion, “I’ve got the whole book of Genesis, now; and if I
don’t pity that Louisa Demming, of Rochester, dog me /”

“TI don’t see any symptoms of it im your face, then,”
returned Bertha, her brown eyes shining with suppressed
mirthfulness.

“Qh, it’s interesting. I’m glad the fellow has a com-
forter. I’m only sorry for her! I ‘hope she ll hold him
back from going too fast/” cried Claude, bursting into a
laugh of surprising volume.

“Tf she does, she ll deserve to be canonized as a saint!”
sald Bertha, softly. ‘“ And just to think he wrote me, after
he married her! I received a letter from Batavia!”

“That’s the joke — don’t you see!” cried the young
brother, rubbing his nose with his thumb. “He would
have left her ‘ between two days,’ and come South, if you ’d
given him a bit of encouragement! Wonder what Louisa
Would think to know that?”

“T hope she’ll never be disturbed by knowing more of
his wickedness than she sees in his daily life. She has

24

 
 

 

278 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

my best wishes and sympathy, I know!” said Bertha the
Beauty.

“ All I marvel at is, that he did n’t come, anyhow. Dog
if I didn’t fear I’d have the rascal to shoot before he’d
quit tormenting us, and get my neck stretched for the
excellent shot!” —blearing his great black eyes at her,
ludicrously.

Bertha turned away, with a look of pain in her white
face, which Claude fortunately construed into affection for
him. She knew why Horace Stanhope had not molested
her in her new home. It was a black story of sin and
crime she had recently learned from one who was wholly
ignorant of the relationship that she had once borne to the
guilty man; but worthless and criminal as her late husband
was, she would not expose him even to a brother, but leave
him to his Maker.

“JT wonder if he won’t send you his photograph! He
don’t know that you are aware of his marriage. Alonzo
says he hasn’t heard of him but once since he left New
York city, you know; and, of course, the fellow thinks you
are in the dark. What a thing it is, to be distinguished!”
said Claude, proudly. “ But for that, we should n’t have
seen the Rey. Nettleton. Well, if the rascal does send his
photograph, I hope it’ll represent him going it ‘fast,’ ‘be
tween two days!’” added Claude, as he went out holding
his nose comically. 2

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

CHAPTER XLVII.

A STARTLING LETTER. — BERTHA’S HEART-SECRET IS
EXPOSED,

jIFTEEN years had gone— fifteen years! and “Bertha
the Beauty” was twenty-nine. The world said nine-
teen! and Bertha smiled strangely. Her heart was young
and peaceful, but the way back to her fourteenth year looked
8 century long to retrospection’s eye; and our heroine won-
dered that wrinkles of age had not been creased upon her
brow, during her journey over that long, weary way.
Bertha’s heart felt unusually young, as she lay there on
the parlor-sofa that warm May Sabbath afternoon, and
looked away back through the microscope of memory, at

the low brown house with the long piazza.

Would she ever see “the dear old place where first they
met,” again? Bertha thought she would. Edalia and
Minnie were urgent, and Bertha had promised to come,

ere long.

Our heroine’s pleasant dreams were broken by the hasty
entrance of Claude, followed by both parents, with curiosity-
lighted faces.

“See here,” said Claude, dangling a letter between finger
and thumb, “I’ve got something for you. It comes from
Perey Ormund’s native city, and I have a presentiment
it bears his name. Jehu! what are you coloring up so
about ?”

“Oh, poh! Give me the letter, you brute!”

“ Well, dog me, if I have n’t touched bottom, and come
ashore at last!” said Claude, exultingly, catching his knee
in both hands, and hopping about the room on one foot.

 
 

 

 

 

280 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“Who is it?” inquired Mr. Belmont, as Bertha broke the
seal with fluttering fingers and turned to the signature.

“Bud has guessed it, upon my word!” exclaimed Bertha,
the crimson of sensibility flooding her face.

“T swan!” said Claude, dropping down beside her, and
putting his head between hers and the letter. “I hope he’s
married; but I’m afraid he is not — hey?”

“How can I read through your head!” said Bertha,
giving it a thump that sounded mellow and started him
to his feet.

It was a long, familiar, affectionate letter, full of the fra-
grance of other days, and wholly rejuvenated the reader’s
life.

Percy Ormund was still unmarried —a bachelor of
thirty-four. He had never forgotten the brown ‘eyes of
the little girl he had met under the moss-covered roof of the
low brown house with the long piazza, fifteen years ago! Her
memory had followed him down the years, as his had her.
He had travelled five years after Mr. Belmont’s negative
reply to his proposition ; and Time wove a thick web of dark-
ness between them. He had learned her existence and local-
ity through her writings, and this letter was the result.

“JT wish he’d kept it to himself, then!” said Claude, with
a pout, as he glanced at Bertha’s bright and burning face.

“ What for?”

“ Because I see which way the compass points now; and
the wind sets fair for both ships. He wonders that you are
not married, and wants to know the why and wherefore. I
‘an see through this letter — it’s just as clear as mud!”

“Don’t imitate somebody’s example, and go too ‘ fast oe
was our heroine’s advice, with mirthful eyes. “ But I
thought you liked him?”

“a

So I do, more than any other man outside of home; but

}??

I don’t want you to marry any one — that’s all!

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 281

“ Just wait till I have a chance to ‘slip through’!” ex-
claimed Bertha, trying to hide her fluttering heart under a
gay mask.

“Oh, I see which way that road leads!” said Claude,
With a half smiling grunt, as he looked at his sister’s red
cheeks, and twisted his mouth at his amused father ;—
“straight down fifteen years, and breaks off in the low brown
house with the long piazza — hum!”

“ And if you’d let me alone, those fifteen years might not
lie so dark between,” she answered, mournfully.

“Heigho! You'll own up, then? Clear beat, and full
Surrender, eh?”

“TI shan’t make any confession without a priest,” said
Bertha, with a face that spoke louder than language.

Claude frowned, and winked at his father.

“ Well, hang me, if I suspected the boy’s intention, or any-
body else’s feelings, or I would have taken the youngster
back, and had the business fixed right! He was a fine
young fellow—I liked him. Why the deuce didn’t you
Speak up for the boy?” said Mr. Belmont, with twinkling
eyes,

“Me?” exclaimed Bertha, springing to her feet, spasmo-
dically. She was gone from their presence right suddenly.

“Well, that I call romance in real life,” said Mr. Bel-
mont, looking very much pleased, as he ran his fingers
through his hair; “I see how the land lies with her —she
can’t hide it!”

“That’s clear as spring water,” returned Claude, “and
nobody ever suspected her! And now, after all she has
refused, she ll take him when he offers, and our home will
be a tripod again! I like the man well, but I don’t relish
the thought of his stealing sister away. I know what home
is without her!” and exercised Claude kicked the carpet

with his heel as he walked the floor.
24%*

 
 

 

 

 

282 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“Well, I shan’t say a word about it, pro or con,” re-
sponded the old man, spitting lustily through the window,
and blackening the gravel in the yard-walk; “and I advise
you to keep out of another scrape. Bertha’s sensible enough
to choose for herself, and strong enough to walk without
support. I guess they ‘ll fix it right to suit all hands; and
it’s no use to flinch before the fire gets hot. I say, let ’em
alone. Such constancy merits reward.”

“T don’t believe she ’ll be justifiable by law in marrying
again in her present situation,” exclaimed Claude, catching
at this straw. “I know nothing about the law of divorce
here, but under the law of New York he is illegally mar-
ried; I know that. And though sis is free from his lawful
power, I don’t see how she can marry legally. I hope she’s
hemmed in, by George!” ejaculated Claude, drawing up
one foot, and keeping it suspended in the air a moment,
under the influence of this fresh hope.

“I’d rather she’d wed Percy than any other man, if he
would n’t take her away,” said the loving mother,

“That’s it! There’s where the shoe pinches, don’t you
see? I like the man well enough to have him for a bro-
ther; and if he’ll make a bargain to suit me, I won’t say
another word in opposition: for if he’s the same Percy I
knew fifteen years ago, he’ll stick to his bargain. Well,
we’ll let matters work quietly a while, and see how the new
suit fits, before we grumble at the pattern, that’s all.”

And so it was decided.

When Bertha escaped from the parlor, like a frightened
bird, she sprang up the stairs and into her quiet chamber,
turning the bolt after her. She was safe now from all pry-
ing eyes and teasing tongues, and a broad smile of heart-
sunshine streamed from the fair face that shone from the
mirror-surface, as she stopped mechanically before it —such
a smile as had never lighted up that lovely face before in

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 283
all the past. Bertha thought she saw some beauty in that
beaming countenance now; and, indeed, the whole earth
Seemed full of beauty and bloom to our happy-hearted heroine.

After all the black clouds and beating storms that had
blighted her young life, she had come forth from the gloomy
Shadows of fate and stood in the bright sunshine of fortune.
Weeping she had endured for a night—a long night of
fifteen weary years! —but joy had come in the morning of
4 new and glorious hope.

She felt confident of the design of Perey Ormund; it
was a felt fact without tangible words. She knew she was
loved by the only heart she had ever eared to win, and her
restless spirit— that had wandered the weary way of life
tired and lone so long —folded up its pilgrim feet and sank
down to rest at last, in a sweet and sun-bright home.

And yet not quite at rest, for the awaking from grief to”
gladness was so sudden and surprising, that the sweet shock
quivered along the delicate wires of her frail being, and
Sent a telegram to the sighing soul, of “Hope resurrected,
that burdened it a while with great joy!

She could not sit quietly, and her tiny feet wandered over
the carpet, while her thoughts ran wild through the wilder-
ness of departed days. Bertha did not look forward —she
did not reach after the To-Come; the rivulet of her dreams
ran along the wayside of the past, and washed the dust of
years from the green things that were gone.

She saw a Providence in all that had bruised and blighted
in the long weary journey of her fate-shadowed life.

But for her sufferings, she might not have turned from
the vanities of the world, and been “saved by grace;” she
might have gone down a blossom-bordered way without
turning her worldly eyes to the stars, and fallen into the
dark waves of Jordan, with no sustaining hand to guide her

fearlessly through.

 
 

 

284 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. |
But for her matrimonial misfortunes, she would not have

“learned in suffering what she taught in song”; and but for }
her songs, she would not have been heard and found by
Percy Ormund, in all human probability.

Bertha said softly, “God moves in a mysterious way, His
wonders to perform.” She knelt déwn at the bedside, and
asked Him who had brought her through the years “out of
great tribulation,” to forgive her past repinings and ingrat-
itude, and strengthen her heart to walk without fainting
through all the future.

Ah, Bertha did not see the black wings that brooded oyer
that future, or her glad and grateful soul would have sunk
down fainting then! She did not-look through the golden
light of the present, and see the dark-browed Fate that had
followed her along the path of the by-gone, frowning just

*beyond the shining borders of a short To-day.

“ Beloved, think it not strange the fiery trial that is to
try you, as though some strange thing happened unto you,”
was not in all the thoughts of our happy-hearted heroine.

Bertha fancied the “fiery trial” was held in the past,
and the great Arbiter of human destiny had given her
full discharge from the further persecutions of grim-faced
Fate.

Perey Ormund’s design in addressing our heroine by let-
ter, after the lapse of fifteen years, was soon made manifest
by frequent communications and unequivocal words.

Bertha told him all, — her past history and present situa-
tion, — foreseeing his purpose in renewing the friendship of

, early youth; and ere the glorious summer was ended, and the
gold and crimson of autumn came, “ Bertha the Beauty”
was the betrothed bride of her first and only love.

Bluer looked the blue skies, and greener glittered the
green earth to the beaming eyes of our beautiful heroine, as
the bright days glided by, festooned with flowers from the

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 285
Say garden of a newly-blooming heart, watered with the
Cool dew of reciprocal love.
_ But ere the autuma was ended, the black wings of her
Fate were stretched wide above her hapless head, and the
8reat light that had glowed in her face a little while, dropped
Silently away into sombre shadows.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

’
CONSCIENTIOUS SCRUPLES. — CLAUDE BELMONT’S
CONFESSION.

| SAY, sis, how does the suit progress?” said gay Claude,

one day, after secretly watching Bertha’s sober face.

“Finely,” she said, with a rising blush.

“Engaged yet, eh?”

“Oh yes,” — with a sickly smile.

$i Hey ?” Claude sprang up spontaneously, but sat down
immediately, trying to look indifferent and cool. ‘“ When
1s Perey coming up?”

“Next spring.”

“Well, that’s a decent length of time. I was fearful
he’d hurry matters. Do you know it will be necessary for
You to obtain a divorce before you can legally marry ?”

“T do, now.”

“ How did you find it out, you close head?”

“From my pastor.”

“You did? Been consulting him? — he’s no lawyer.”

“No; but he’s something better; and, besides, he has
learned the law on that point.”

“Ahem!” Claude lay back and whistled a while, with
both hands grasping his coat-collar, and an indefinable

 
 

286 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

glitter in his dark eyes. “Youll have to apply immedi
ately, to be ready by spring — takes some time to settle such
business.”

He glanced at her serious face sideways.

“T shall never marry while Horace Stanhope lives, Buc fe.
she said, solemnly.

“Hey?” His chair came forward with a force that made
the floor ring, and his eyes widened and snapped wonder
fully. ‘What the deuce is up now? Why do you back
out?”

“Tt is written, ‘She that putteth away her husband, and
marrieth again,’ violates the seventh commandment. ‘The
wife is bound by the law so long as her husband liveth,
and not until she is divorced. Also, ‘Let not the wife depart
from her husband; but and if she depart, let her remail
unmarried.’ Is not that too plain to be misunderstood by
any one who desires to do right?”

“Hallelujah!” shouted Claude, throwing his head back
and his heels up. “ That’s the best sermon I ever heard if
my life! Any more of the same sort, sis? I want you
pinned tight in a scriptural sheet, so ’s to leave no loop-holé
for conscience to creep out at a pinch — hey?”

“You selfish thing!” said Bertha, smiling in spite of het
self; “just wait till you’re placed in my position, and thet
you'll learn sympathy.”

“Hurt you much?” laughed Claude, dipping down, and
diving into her eyes, “So you won’t apply next court?”

* ever /”

“ Does Percy know it?”

“Percy thinks it’s right.”

“Oh, ho! And if he had n’t, he might have convinced
you — hey?”

“Tf he had n’t, it would not have been wrong.”

“Jiminy! is that your faith? How does he take it?”

BERTHA, THE- BEAUTY. 287

“Like St. Peter at the cross —as a good Christian bears
& burden.”

“ Bravo! Well, that ’s just the opinion I had formed of
the man, and I’ve been wondering how the matter would
end, though I kept mum. I know most people would have
Cleared that fence at one bound; but I thought a true
Christian’s garment would be pretty apt to get hitched on
the Upper rail. I know it’s all right and fair, as the world
oes, — thousands have done the deed, from the beginning
of the world till now, — but whoever examines the root of
the matter from an earnest desire to walk in the ‘straight
and narrow way,’ must see it is morally wrong and socially
Corrupt. In my opinion, if such marriages were prohibited
by law, there would be fewer divorces in the land. ‘So long
88 you both shall live’ —to which one assents at the bridal
altar— cannot be expunged by a human hand; it’s engraved
on the tablet of eternity. I would n’t wed in your situa-
tion, or marry a divorced wife, however beautiful and good
and dear she might be; but I’d wait for her till the last
bell sounded for prayers, if I loved her as I think somebody
does you, from the number of letters that pass! I should
think that fellow would find something else to do, in his
Position, besides courting every day, at such a distance!”
Said Claude, peeping roguishly under at Bertha’s blooming
face,

“Percy will wait,” she said, softly.

“ And you will wait — eh?”

“wil,”

“And if that rascal never dies?” he suggested.

“T am not waiting for him to die,” she said, hastily, with
4 little shiver, “I hope he will live until he’s prepared for
® brighter and better world than this.”

_ “You wish him a long life, then? Dog if I don’t be-
lieve he’ll be the last man on this terrestrial sphere, if the

 
 

 

—————————

 

288 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

Lord grants him that lease! I’m afraid his conscience is
seared; he’s married illegally!”

“T know that now; but I was not aware of the fact
when —”

“ When what?” queried Claude, watching her crimsoning
cheek at right-angles.

“ When I entered into a second engagement.”

“You might prosecute the rascal for bigamy,” said Claude,
with twinkling eyes.

“No, no!” exclaimed our heroine, in a flutter. “J am
not his wife!”

“Oh, ho! that hurts, does it? No, thank the Lord, he’s
got no right to you, sis; but you could get the fellow inte
trouble, if you wished.”

“T shan’t trouble him, then,—he’s safe, so far as J’™
concerned.”

“ Well, what are you waiting for, if you don’t want the
fellow to die?”

“ God’s will, and a happier world! ” said Bertha, bravely;
looking firmly into his sober eyes. “I never thought seri-
ously on this subject, until Percy waked me from dream
ing,” she continued, smiling faintly, “ and —”

“ And if Percy should insist now, you’d get a diyore%
hey?”

“ Never! I thought I was wholly free, and the example
of thousands, including ministers of the gospel, justified m®
in marrying again. I never analyzed the flower and found
it a poisonous plant. I always found it a great convenien®
in softening refusals to others, to hint at my position, and
decline to be convinced by argument. I was willing to be
sceptical then, but now it hurts!”

“ Where at?” inquired Claude, peeping under playfully:

“Here!” said Bertha, tapping one small finger quickly
over her heart, and coloring deeply.

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 289

ame cen of pain dwelt in the brother's dark eyes, a
a 3 then he said, with apparent lightness:
2 Oh, itl] all come right, sis; it won’t last long; no
Penh. feeling Soubled, Percy is safe, and you —”
eee - : : that!” she interrupted. “I felt free before, but
kbs eel smothered, caged. I seem to have a great net
die I vant shake off” And Bertha wriggled her
* ie 1oulders impulsively, with a contracted brow.
Seine wxene it off mighty easy, I It bet !” said Claude,
uae ner around the waist and tossing her towards the
a, several times.
bis Moy, ain’t it, hey?” he asked, mischievously, as he set
wn.
“No, and never will be by human agency! Oh, if you
© > +74 ‘
ad n’t urged me!” she cried, piteously, dropping her face

in ~ : . . :
— hands, and bursting into irrepressible tears.
Ile . . . . .
1ude Belmont, the jovial, was on his knees, with his

arms . :
“fms around her, in an instant.

wea sis ! The Lord knows I wish I hadn’t! I
aaa ries fe 280, for whet matter ! And that ’s why I kept
Saka 3 = et : going to get my fingers burnt agen,
ence : said Claude, trying to cheer her up, with affected

“Te : : }
ee. you did n’t care about it,” continued Claude, “’t would
a me toa notch! for just as like as not, Percy would n’t
nsent to let you live here; and then —”
“ »
Yes, he would.”

ics ;
Did he say as much?”

Ey gn 4

, Ry es. It was all settled. He would have consulted my
€elings,”

“< > . a . .
Bless him! If he said so, he ’d do it. I always liked

Shi ccs P b Py

© man, but I’d like it a little better if you loved me the
Vest, y area e| $5 , 5 . i

Sie You see I’m a bit jealous — got greenish eyes too —

9r

25 T

 
 

290 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“You selfish fellow, you know I love you, like all the
world!”

“Over the left, you know! Want to run off with that
scamp, and leave me to eat dirt, when he don’t love you
half as well as I do!” said Claude, turning up his nose, and
stretching his mouth and eyes ludicrously.

Bertha laughed irresistibly, with great tears glittering in
her eyes.

“ Here Lam, an old bach of twenty-seven, and don’t care
a snap for the girls, ‘or any other man,’ just because I’ve
got a naughty little sis that I like better!” said Claude,
kissing both wet eyes and small mouth with loud smacks;
“ond I shan’t marry either, so long as that same little sis
is out of other fellows’ claws, and she don’t care enough for
me to keep from feeling hurt because she can’t run off with
out breaking the Decalogue all to smash! There — there 5
don’t cry any more!” he said, soothingly, as Bertha’s lips
trembled again. “Percy will be faithful, I know, and if
it’s the Lord’s will you’re waiting for, I think He’ll reward
you after a while. And if that rascal never dies —”

“There ’s ‘light beyond the clouds,’” said Bertha, bravely:

“Yes; and I believe you’ve got grace enough in this
little body, not to break your heart for what Providenc®
decrees. I should collapse immediately, to see you moping
around in ‘a green and yellow melancholy.’ And the®
you ’ve got somebody to love besides me, you know,” said
Claude, squeezing her around the waist with both arms;
“and goodness knows, you’ve had more than your share of
affection in this world already. You won’t feel hurt about
it any more? —keep a stiff upper lip, and just wait pa
tiently, and see what the will of the Lord is — hey ?”

“J will —I will!” said Bertha, gulping down something
that went hard, and kissing his loving mouth through his

,oustache, with her arms clinging around his neck.

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 291

$6 Te .

Bravo! I thought you’d come out all right! I know
omething about the mechanism of this little machine,”
tapping her shoulder lightly ; “mighty small and frail to

look at, but strong as fury when it runs against a snag —

o
I swan!” said Claude, bounding up, and going out with a

gay whistle.

Claude Belmont bore the reputation of being “the most
devoted brother the sun ever shone on;” and the world was
right. Many a bright eye had vainly tried to wing an
arrow to his heart; but Claude was invulnerable. And
yet the archers still bent their bows. Would he ever be
struck? Bertha wondered, and hoped he would not, until
after her engagement to Percy Ormund. Now the secret was
betrayed, and Bertha cried over it when Claude could not
See the tears,

And Claude Belmont, the jovial, went up to his room,
whistling ; but when there, the gay mask fell off, and he
wept secret drops of sympathy for his sister’s sufferings.
He knew how she was pained by her strong but ineffectual
efforts to conceal her feelings; and the brother’s loving
heart grieved for her in secret, and ran over with seeming
sunshine, when Bertha was by to catch the beams !

Perey Ormund did not “come up next spring,” as Ber-
tha had said, for the hoarse thunder of WAR was rumbling
fearfully through the land, and Percy was vaptain of a
company of brave volunteers preparing for the emergency.

 
 

 

BERTHA, THE: BEAUTY,

CHAPTER’ XLIX:

“THE WAR FOR THE UNION.” — BERTHA FEARS FOR
CLAUDE.

T was a terrible day when the first “invader of the sa-
ered soil” fell, and Colonel Ellsworth lay dead beneath
the Confederate flag, at the Marshall House, and Jackson,
his destroyer, fell, shot and brutally mangled by the furious
and savage Zouaves.
Bertha sprang from her couch of dreams — awakened by
the unusual sound without —and peered through the blinds.
What a scene! Hundreds of foreign-looking “ boys in
blue,” with bayonets glittering in the early May morning
light, —a white flag shivering on a short staff, —innumerable
black faces, with wide mouths stretched from ear to ear, and
white eyes dancing with gladness all around, and the Star-
spangled Banner waving over all, with the kettle-drum and
fife racking the beaten air.
Bertha looked at the glittering steel, and thought, with a
shiver, “Percy may meet them!”
She made a hasty toilet, and descended to the hall.
“ Be jabers, an’ they won’t hurt ye —you need n’t be
afraid, young leddy,” said Paddy, eying our heroine as

she stood upon the street-step and looked after the marching
soldiers.

Bertha judged her countenance had awakened the sym-
pathy of the kind-hearted Irishman who looked at her so
pityingly and essayed to comfort the little stranger, and she
smiled faintly.

> . . ais ,
“Be me sowl, an’ there ain’t no danger in ’em— faith, an
it’s meself that says it —arrah !” said Pat, his admiring

eyes devouring her fair face, with the great shadow over it.

_ )
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 293

“Thank you; I’m not afraid,” said Bertha, as she turned
away. “For myself,” she added, as she closed the hall-door
behind her; “but, oh, for him! for him!”

But our heroine was terribly afraid for more than Perey
Ormund before the shades of night closed around; for rumor
ran that the desperate Zouaves would ransack and burn the
town ere the light of another morning, in revenge for their
Colonel’s death. But the morning dawned, after a long,
Weary night, and “one woe was past” for our heroine, and
the town at large.

But one fear followed fast upon the heels of a departed
One during that long, struggling, and bloody period, “ the
War for the Union,” and Bertha said to Claude one day:

“Won’t you have to go, now that we are within the lines?”

“ Reckon not,” caressing his upper lip; “shan’t till I’m
forced —certing-le! I’m a non-combatant under the cir-
cumstances. Nobody left to take care of you— don’t you
See? Twas always opposed to secession —I see the end from
the beginning — and [ have n’t a doubt but the leaders will
acknowledge their folly when the war is over, if they have
any breath left ; I’ll confess it for them in advance, and
take the responsibility. But I shan’t fight them for it, if I
know myself, and I think I do, that deep. Pretty-looking
fellow I should be to pop Percy over!” said Claude, stretch-
ing his eyes soberly.

“Oh, don’t, please!”

“Don’t please? Well, that’s what I like to do; but I
Won’t, if you say so. No, no; blood is thicker than water,
and friendship something more than a name ; and I shan’t
Volunteer to fight my own people, if I do think and know
they are wrong —foolishly wrong, for they are destroying
themselves, like Ephraim. They ’ll see it after a while,
when it’s too late, and perceive how vain their hopes now
are of foreign aid. England and France won’t interfere

25 *

 
 

 

 

294 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

with our domestic difficulty, unless they can come in and
capture the whole household— depend upon that — and their
aid is the sole dependence of the South. John Bull and
Monsieur Franeais are not very disinterested animals, and
unless they can pick the golden fleece, they ’ll keep their
hands off, I’ll bet ye! If the North and South will just
turn in and swallow each other, then old Johnny and Frog-
eater will pounce down and make our eagle squeal — be
jabers !” said Claude, rubbing his head as though he’d got
a blow. “I’m a Union man because I love the South, and
I’d be shot down before I’d fire a gun at my old home.
But if foreign powers interfere with old Uncle Sam, I
would n’t mind giving ’em a dig!” added Claude, looking
daggers at a foreign foe and turning up his nose at Bertha.

“And if you went, I’d go too — that’s certain.”

“Put on jacket and cap, and shoulder your musket —
hey?” inquired the young man, dropping down on the car-
pet, and laying his head back upon her arm.

“T?d follow as hospital nurse, like those women who go
draggling through the mud after every regiment that comes
in— (for it rains whenever there’s a military movement) —
poor things!”

“Then what a lucky hap it was that you and Percy
didn’t get spliced last spring; for the rebel talked square
up for Southern independence, in that kiss-me-quick letter
he smuggled through the lines; and while there’s a Fed-
eral bayonet in the field, and he’s afloat, that Confederate
captain of volunteers will fight—ha! ha! Should n’t won-
der a bit if the ‘Grayback’ climbed clear up the ladder of
distinction before the war ends, and comes bobbing around
here after a while as General Ormund, C. 8S. A.— whew!”
said Claude, pulling her face down to his with both hands.

“Tf he lives he’ll distinguish himself, no doubt,” replied
Bertha, softly.

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 295

“Oh, he ’ll live through it all, I feel it in my bones —
May get scratched just enough to be brought up to the
hospital here for you to nurse — going to look for him after
every big battle — hey ?”

“T reckon I’ll find him, if he’s brought here; or any
other old-time friend.”

“Horace, mayhap!” he suggested, with a twinkle of his
Upturned eyes.

Bertha laughed outright; the idea was so original and
Preposterous. Horace Stanhope go to the war! It was too
Much for her to think of without a risible eruption.

“Seems to me,” he said, holding his mouth with finger
and thumb, “you have n’t a very exalted opinion of that
fellow’s bravery and patriotism. Like as not he’ll outstrip
Kelley and McClelland, and lead the United States forces
‘on to Richmond’ yet! Who knows?” said Claude,
Scrambling up from the floor, and disappearing, with both
hands holding his sides.

The brother’s object was accomplished ; he had driven
the shadows from her face for the time.

 

CHAPTER L.

AFTER THE BATTLE,—UNDER-GROUND MAIL.

NEAT awful twenty-first of July, 1861.

Bertha heard the heavy cannon booming all through
that solemn Sabbath from the distant battle-field of Bull
Run, and her aching heart quivered at every sound,

“Manassas is captured — the rebels are whipped — their
Stronghold is taken by the Yankees!” was bruited abroad

as the night ciosed in.

 
 

296 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY,

What a weight the human heart can bear, and not be
broken beneath the mighty burden!

Bertha lay and tossed to and fro, now starting from 4
frightful dream when tired nature sank away through sheer
weariness; and now pressing her aching eyes deep down 12
the pillow, as a mental vision arose before them until the
morning light. And then she looked forth upon a scene
that beggars all description.

Dirty, ragged, shoeless, hatless, tangle-haired, swearing;
hungry -looking Union soldiers, without arms, lined the
side-walks as far as the eye could reach from her chamber-
window — their bare feet submerged in the full gutters, and
a dismal rain beating piteously upon their much-abused
uniforms. Some were nibbling “hard tac,” with occasional
draughts from a suspicious - looking canteen; others con
signed McDowell to uncomfortably hot quarters for 4
“traitor;” and a large number were stretched at full length,
coiled into semicircles, or flat of their backs, with knees
and noses upturned towards the watery clouds, upon the
muddy pavement.

Bertha had never witnessed such a scene before, and her
eyes dilated with astonishment. Had those miserable-look-
ing “ Yanks” whipped the “ Rebs,” and taken possession of
their stronghold? she wondered. If they had, our heroine
thought “one more such victory, and the Government was
ruined!” They certainly had been “saved as by fire”; and
3ertha thought their raiment bore strong evidence of haying
been much injured by wood /

“What does this mean?” asked Bertha, bounding half
dressed into the breakfast-room, with eyes round and rolling:

“Could n’t find a good place to sleep at Manassas, and the
Rebs poisoned the water!” said Claude, rubbing the side of
his nose soberly.

“Percy’s kind heart could n’t accommodate ’em with

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 297

lod

gings fit for soldiers, and sent ’em back to town for
“omfortable quarters. Beauregard’s and Johnson’s families
filled all the vacancies in ‘Cousin Sallie’s’ hotel, and the
old lady could n’t take in st rangers. What are you blinking
about?” asked Claude, puckering up his mouth as though
for a whistle.

i Why, I thought the Union had broken the back-bone
of the Rebellion yesterday, and it would n’t ever be able
to stand alone again |”

“So did ‘we, us, and company’; but it turned out to be
only a spare rib; and Jo Johnson, the rascal, came up in
the nick of time and splintered it, and doctored the patient
Until it got strong enough to engage in a foot-race, with its
old master Jeff looking on for amusement. But the ‘gray-
backs’ couldn't catch the ‘blue boys, — they beat the
Rebs at that game, They left’em in the lurch and got back
home safe and sound, a great deal lighter than they left,”
Said Claude, nodding his head exultingly at Bertha, over
the “Yankee trick” played on the Rebs by the “blue
boys.”

“Where are you going?— breakfast is ready!” said
Claude, looking after her with a long face and laughable
eyes, ‘as Bertha went out with one hand over her mouth and
the other pulling at her curls.

Mrs. Belmont and Bertha stood at the window, looking
Cut upon the wild and awful scene.

Squads of soldiers, with filthy garmenjfs and tattered
banners, — careworn women with dirty babies, eating beef
and crackers on the side-walk with men who had lost all
the seeming of soldiers, saving the language, — a few scat-
tering muskets, leaning against trees, looking as though
they had “ fought their last battle,”— and the restless rain
drizzling over all.

“ Jewilikins! ain’t she a b vauty ?” said a wide-eyed sol-

 
 

 

298 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

dier, looking back over his shoulder at Bertha, who had
not before observed him.

_ “Beats creation all to flinders!” exclaimed his brother
arms, kissing his hand towards the window that framed th®
fair face.

Bertha closed the shutters.

“Tell yeou what, old lady,” cried a boy in blue to a fe-
male of African descent on the opposite side of the streeh
“we Yanks got licked like blazes this bout — don’t deny it
D my eyes, if them Rebs don’t fight like h ! whoop!
Had a big fight and a long slide, and no w hiskey tew lean eo
—ke-oop! Oh, good Goddle-mity, a-i-n-t I glad I’m a- JJivia’
now!”

And the brave soldier lifted one foot clear of the pav
ment, and bent so far backward, in hug-himself del light fot
being still in the flesh after his. “long slide” from a “big
fight,” that Bertha listened to hear his head bump upon th?
law of gravitation !

But the Union ship, well laden with corn and rye, UP
righted with a shiver and jerk, and dived forward with #
broad leaning towards both sides of the street, as it scudded
under bare poles.

“There ’s patriotism for you,” said Bertha, shutting het
mouth tight and turning to her mother.

“‘ How it reels!” replied Mrs. Belmont, looking after th?
bold soldier just from the battle, with elevated ey rebrows and
slightly parted lips.

“T reckon he didn’t do much fighting,” said our heroil®
soberly.

“ But he’s good on a ‘long slide,” laughed the mother:
as the Federal craft went down on the causeway under the
pressure of too much top-sail and mucilaginous under-curren’

“Say, sis, Percy’s coming in to-night,” cried Claude, pop
ping his hes 9a into the parlor, with rueful visage.

 

. 9C
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 299

“ What ’s the rumor now?”

g, Why, McDowell and his whole army has skedaddled,
and the Confeds are after Uncle Sam’s head, and the Yan-
kees say Jeff Davis may play foot-ball with it to-morrow, if
he follows up his victory. The soldiers are marching out
to defend the town to the best of their demoralized ability,
and there’s g-r-e-a-t excitement in the city,” said Claude,
blearing his great black eyes at Bertha.

“T reckon he won’t stay long if he,comes now,” she re-
turned, dryly.

“Should n’t wonder. Those big dogs of war down there
On the Potomac will bark loud if that ‘glorious Beauregard’
Wakes ’em from their slumber; and the mischief of it is
they won’t mind where they bite. Just as like as not they'll
give us the hydrophobia before that Captain Ormund can
take their heads off and make ’em ‘die in Dixie!’” said
Claude, dropping down at full length upon the sofa, apd
shutting his eyes tight, with a loud snore. “ Moreover,” he
Continued, waking up suddenly, “the general in command

here is calling upon the Union citizens to stand to arms and
assist the soldiers in keeping the Rebels back. Ireckon I'll
have to go and take a pop at Percy at last,” with a long face
and. lonesome groan. “ What are you laughing about?” to
Bertha, in evident surprise.
‘You won’t have the privilege of popping at Percy to-
night, or ever, near the limits of this corporation.”

“How do you know—hey?” said Claude, rising upon his
elbow, and staring at her with full eyes.

“The Confederacy won’t reach the capital through this
city, if it ever does,” returned our heroine, mysteriously.

“T want tew know! dew tell!” said Claude, putting up his
mouth and nose as though he snuffed a strange aoe from
afar, “Heard from the captain since the battle?’

Bertha’s curly head dipped and her brown eyes danced.

 
300 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“Jehu! right side up with care, eh?”

“Not a scratch; only three bullets through his cap and
a sabre-cut across his coat-sleeve,” answered our heroine,
with a shiver,

“Jiminy! Pretty close quarters for edged tools! How
the deuce did that letter come?”

“Underground mail,” said Bertha, laying one finger oD
her lip and looking wonders at the Union brother.

“TI won’t tell —‘spit it out!’” said Claude, peeping in-
telligently into her bright face.

“A soldier in Federal uniform brought it.”

“ Jim-i-ny! traitor! deserter !— off with his head, Buck-
ingham!” And Claude flourished his arm, as though act-
ing upon the suggestion, with humorous eyes.

“But the man was a Southern soldier,” laughed Bertha,
“and only came in to see his friends. He asked me for @
drink of water, and when the glass came back it held this
letter,’ holding it up, with a musical ring from her red
mouth. “He’s going back in a few days, and take an al-
swer to this — Deo volante!”

“ How the mischief did he manage it?”

“Easy enough! Donned a dead soldier’s uniform;
Percy sent him on horseback to the lines. Then he was
one of the Union stragglers—lost all but his life—and got
in here terribly tired with running through the woods from
desperate Rebels, you know!” And Bertha laid her head
back upon the cushion, and half screamed with delight at
the mail-carrier’s cunning.

“Jerusalem !” said Claude, falling back on the sofa and
hiding his face a moment, while his whole form shook.
“ Maybe he ’Il get back safe,” suggested Claude, looking up
with a remarkably sober face.

“ Maybe he will, and not walk all the way either.”

“T reckon he won’t be missed from his regiment here when

 

PY
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 301
I

Ne leaves with the mail,” added Claude, bursting into an
i

Tresistible horse-laugh. “ Well, that captain beats me;
but it’s none of my business,” said Claude, going off with a

shrug of the shoulders and stepping high at each stride.

CHAPTER LI.
OLD BROADBRIM ENTERS THE LINES.

A YEAR passed away, blood-stained and sunless, and

the hope of a speedy termination of our national trou-
bles grew faint and fainter; the clouds of war grew more
dense and the earth more darkened.

‘ ¥ e eye n 7 P 1
3ertha’s search for some old-time, familiar face, through
hospitals after every “big battle,” had thus far been
“successful. She changed her mind relative to being a

the

“hospital ntfrse” before the close of that year. Such scenes
8S she had witnessed in passing through the crowds of sick
and wounded, gave her entirely new ideas of, and feelings
for, the vocation.

Bertha found a woman was sadly out of her sphere where
Men and modesty were strangers to each other. She drew
her thick veil over her hot face, and hurried through, shut-

ting her eyes sometimes to avoid a second view of some
Sickening scene.

The September sun had not reached its meridian when a
°ne-horse cart, well laden with wood, was observed by the
guard at West End slowly approaching from the Theologi-
cal Seminary.

The appearance of the driver was interesting in the ex-

26

 
 

 

 

3802 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

treme. Union Brassbuttons eyed him with evident satis
faction.

He was very tall, and sat upon the cart-front with both
big boots as far apart as they could conveniently get. His
pants, of “ Virginia mixed,” were rolled to the knees, and
a broad-brimmed hat slouched over long grizzly locks, with
a red bandanna tied under the chin, indicating toothache oF
neuralgia. He swung his whip lazily, as he came on at #
snail’s gallop, and whistled loudly, “The Red, White, and
Blue.”

“Halt!”

Woodman drew up short, and smoothed out his mouth.

“T comed a purpose. What’ll ye have?” inquired Broad-
brim.

“ Got ary papergram aboard o’ your trousers?” said guard.
“Nary time,” diving his hands deep down in his pocket*

and bringing up something that looked suspicious; “ but
I’ve got some nasty Confederate scrip I’ve been peddlin’
off to the Union boys as curiosities, you know. Have
some? Only ten cent on the dollar, you know.”

“Don’t care ’f I dew. How much you got o’ the trash?”

“TLe’ me see; one, two, three” —and woodman counted uP
to thirty. “Got thirty o’ the stuff. Take ’em for the rest 0
the boys, you know. They ’ll want ’em to speck’late 0M
you know.”

“ Wall, yas — guess as how I will, ‘you know,’” said Yank,
winking significantly. ‘ Here’s three good dollars for the
nasty stuff, jest out o’ Uncle Sam’s mint. Makes yout
mouth water — say, yeou?”

“ All right, you know. Git up here, Bose — got to sell
out ’fore dark, and git a pass back, you know?”

“Hold on there; yeou hain’t got no contrabands and
things aboard o’ your pile —love-letters and sich — stowed
into knot-holes, and so on, be yeou? ”

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 303

“Not’s I knows on —haw! haw! You kin look, you

know, and if you ketch a weazel asleep, you kin jest tell
me, you know.”
i Suess I'll be pooty apt tew dew that same, you know!”
Said Yank, setting his head on one side and putting the end
of his thumb to the tip of his red nose. “Bound to be
Pooty bright-eyed these times; an’, spite of all, news sneaks
through the lines —the d 1 knows how! Them secesh
women down there”— pointing to the city eastward —“ knows
all abeout things on t’ other side; an’ how they git at it, old
Abe’s gov’ment carn’t find eout. Meanest secesh hole in
Creation — that’s so/”

“They won’t git no letters this load, you know; I don’t
tote contrabanders to seceshers, nary time, you know.”

“Heaw! he-aw! he-aw!” roared Yank, bending double
With the force of sound; “I heerd tell o’ that same ‘ tote’
up in Yankee-land, but I never seen it done afore. Say,
yeou, hain’t got no ‘heap’ o’ letters to ‘tote’ round—hey?”

“Reckon not, you know — haw! haw!”

“Tl jest look under your broadbrim and handkercher,
ef you ’ve no objection, ‘ you know.’ =

“Sartinly ; but look fast, ’cause I’ve got the nuralergy in
the’ face, and mought ketch cold, you know. ‘Sides that,
I’ve got to git a pass from Mars Provost-Marshal ’fore long,
or stay in town over night, you know. We southside fellows
used to gin them things to niggers, and now they gin ’em to
us, you know.”

“Hey? yeou d Rebel! Niggers be we?” and guard
levelled his musket at Broadbrim.

“Don’t shoot! I’ll come down!” said woodman, squat-
ting behind the cart, and*peeping under with a broad grin.
“You would n’t hurt an old fellow like me, you know?”

“How do I know?” snickered Yank, dropping his gun,
and blowing his nose with his fingers. “ Yeou ain’t no spy,

 
 

304 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

pokin’ in here after no good, be yeou?—jest eout 0’ the Rebel
army, in Quaker clothes, tew cheat a feller, like that d——
Moseby, drivin’ in here tew market with’chickens to sell ?”

“Did n’t do it, did he?” asked woodman, with sauce!
like eyes.

“ Wall, yas—the d rascal done that same, they say;
and the secesh women hid him till he could creep eout!
Ought tew have a rope round their necks, every d b-—=
of’em! If ’t were n’t for them we should n’t ’a’ had such
hard pull at Chantilla, tew my mind!”

‘Lost your man down there, did n’t ye?”

“Yas; old Kearney knocked under; and he’ll be missed
tew. Bravest man that ever lost a arm, tew my mind.”

“T reckon, you know, he went out a-cussin’, did n’t he?”

“Like’s not. He was able tew dew it — that’s so/”

“Say he could cuss clean through, and come out oD
t? other side in a blue streak, you know! Didn’t have to
pay for cussin’ ’fore that last fight 0’ his’n down at Chan-
tilly ; but I reckon it costs him dear now, with back interest,
you know!”

“You hain’t got nuthin’ further for me to do, have ye!
cause it’s time, you know, to be movin’ towards Mars
Provoste’s.”’

“Wall, yeou can move on neow, I guess. Good-day, old

3roadbrim !”

“ Good-bye, too! much obleeged to ye, Mars Fed!” said
woodman, ducking his head over the wood-pile, and driving
on at a brisk trot.

As the old Broadbrim went down the street, whistling the
“Star-spangled Banner” whenever a Union soldier could
hear, his blue eyes flew from door to door in evident search
of something.

Suddenly he tightened the reins, and called out to Mr.

Belmont, standing on the step:

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“Want any wood to-day, you know?”

“ Well, I don’t know — how much for it?”

= Seventy-five cents — first-rate wood, you know.”

~ Pretty cheap — guess I “Il take it at that rate.” re

“Thought that ’d fetch ye, you know. You see it’s
gittin’ late, an’ I’ve got other fish to fry ’fore I git out’n
here. Where’ll ye have it dumped down od

“ Here, Ben,” (to the servant,) “show that man where to
put that wood.

“Tl come round and settle for it.”

Mr. Belmont went out to the alley, where Broadbrim had
“dumped down” the load.

“ Give a fellow a drink o’ water?” asked woodman.

“Certainly. Ill send it out.”

* Never mind; I’ll go git it, if you ’ve no objection.”

“ Pleasant place, this,” —smiled old Broadbrim, sinking

down upon the piazza-floor, after refreshing himself with a

glass of Cameron run; “reckon, I rest a bit.”

“Take this easy-chair,” said Bertha, drawing it out of
the hall; “ you look tired.”

Woodman gave a quick turn, and stamped his foot upon
the floor at the sound of her voice.

“Thank you, Miss; I’ll take it ‘cause you say so; but I
ain’t tired now.”

“Live far out?” inquired Mr. Belmont, as Claude
came up.

“ Pretty well down — close on to Manassy.”

se Good times out there, plenty to eat, and no stealing ?”
asked Claude.

“Haw! haw! You needn’t want to try it! "Bout as
lean as Pharaoh’s kine — first the Rebels, and then the
Yanks; and between the two we ’re about cleaned out.”

1 PAO iT ” 26 }
“The Southerners didn’t trouble you, I reckon,” said

Bertha, smiling.
26 * U

 
306 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“Why not, Miss?” eying her under his broadbrim.

“ Because Southerners don’t steal from their friends; but
the Yankees trust nobody for loyalty down here, and take
from all alike!”

“That ’s the blessed truth, child! I know something
about that.”

“ Rebel, eh?” said Mr. Belmont, with a half-frown.

“T’m a Southern man by birth ; and I never saw a man
born in the South that had n’t real feeling for his ons
people, however much he might think they had erred,”

returned woodman, forgetting apparently, in his warmth,
his former style of expression.

His hearers exchanged intelligent glances,

“ You were born in the South, I reckon?” turning to
Bertha.

“Oh, yes, thank fortune! away down in North Carolina.”

“Grandest little copperhead within the Federal lines!—
ought to be sent to the Old Capitol!” laughed Mr. Belmont.

“All are copperheads, nowadays, who don’t want the
South sunk; no matter if they are faithful to the old flag,
and deplore secession. I reckon you were n’t born this side
of Mason and Dixon’s,” to Mr. Belmont.

“No, I’m a Northern man, and true blue for the Union.”

“Butler and Co.!” said Broadbrim, satching his under
lip with his upper teeth tightly.

“ Well, I never quarrel with a man for differing from me
in sentiment; but I wish them to concede the same right to
ai and not raise the hue and ery of ‘traitor,’ ‘rebel,’ and

‘copperhead,’ because a Southerner don’t buy, rope to hang
his own people. I believe there are as good and true
Unionists in the South as you could find anywhere North;
but they get no credit for it, if they have any sympathy for

their struggling brothers. I reckon this little girl is Union
at heart,” turning to Bertha,

 

o1\'7
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 307

‘ . ”
“T loved the South too well to advocate secession.

“But now that they are in for it, you feel for them, and
love still ? ”

“edo. F fotonmed Bertha, tears starting to her eyes.
“That suits me —let’s shake hands,” said Broadbrim,
drawing off his great, coarse glove, and displaying a hand

that belied his occupation as woodman by its size and
delicac xy.

‘ “7: oI By i.
“Seems to me you’re sailing under false colors,” ex-

Claimed © laude, staring at the fine hand folding his won-
der ing sister’s,

“Have to do it these days to carry the mail!” said
Woodms an, looking intelligently at the three.

“T ree oe this little girl would like to hear news from
abroad just like as not.”

“Should n’t wonder!” and Claude stretched his eyes
at her,

com:

Imes have been so tight for a good many months, that
the mail could n’t get round; and 9 general postms oui
Suspended the operation of this office

“Reckon he’d like to suspend me alten taking the
Oath?” asked Broadbrim, with a shake of his long grizzly
loc tks, and glancing sideways at Bertha. “This little, girl
looks impatient,” nodding at the smiling father and bro-
ther, “Well, child, I have n’t got any letter for you —
Could n’t have slipped through with it; it’s all by word of
Mouth. The Colonel is well —”

“ Colonel!” ejaculated Claude. “You mean Major.’

“Oh, no, I don’t! I mean Colonel. He was promoted
for gallant conduct at the battle of Chantilly. I saw it
done myself. This little girl looks pleased,” he added, eyir

Save expel ises.””

we
5
Bertha’s radiant face with a queer smile.
; :
“ But I can’t tell you all before your father; he’s a Yan-

kee. And I don’t know but this young man has some of

 
 

 

08 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

his blood in him, and might do mischief,” said Broadbrit
looking under at Claude.

“Better go in and talk treason then,” laughed Claude,
holding on to his moustache with two fingers,

Bertha took the hint, and led the way to the parlor.

“That fellow’s from the Rebel army, I’m pretty sure
and ought to be arrested,” said Mr. Belmont to Claude.

“Oh, he can’t do any hurt. Don’t interfere with—”

A half-scream from the parlor cut short the sentenc®
Claude sprang to the door and looked in.
’ The red bandanna, broadbrim, and grizzly-gray locks lay
upon the carpet, and “Bertha the Beauty ” was weepilg
and laughing in the arms of smiling, blue-eyed, auburn
haired Colonel Perey Ormund.

 

CHAPTER LILI.

JOY AND SORROW.—BERTHA FINDS WORK TO DO.

UGHT to be arrested, by George! ” growled Mr, Bel-
mont, as he shook hands heartily with his would-be
son-in-law, with a queer expression about the corners of his
good-natured mouth.
“You’ve done me mischief enough in the past to be in-
dulgent now,” returned Perey, with serio-comic eyes.
“Then I guess I’ll keep dark for the present, ‘you know’
—ha! ha!” said Mr. Belmont, breaking into a roar at the
memory of the Colonel’s former appearance and style of
address,
Old Broadbrim did not apply to “Mars Provost Mar-
shal” for a pass that day; and the golden-hued hours flew
all too fast to the faithful hearts folded together for the first

9
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 309

time, and after a separation of almost seventeen long weary
years !

As twilight settled on the sunny-faced day, Bertha was
terrified to see a squad of soldiers file up and ground arraa

before her father’s door. Something was afloat through the
Servants, no doubt, and our heroine was half wild with ap-

Prehension for her lover's safety.
She

sprang up the back stairs, pulling Perey, cool and
Smiling

, after her, and the Confederate Colonel was pushed
Out of the second-story back window, where he escaped to
the roof of the third by means of a short ladder, luckily
left by the tinner, drawing the ladder after him, at Bertha’s
frantic advice.

Our heroine now descended to the hall, trying to smooth
down her ruffled plumage and get at the gist of the matter.

The General in command had been informed by “a col-
red lady” that Jeff Davis, President of the Southern Con-
federacy, had been smuggled into Mr. Belmont’s house, where
he wag yet skulking, in countryman’s garb! General Mont-
Somery ordered the soldiers out to capture the Rebel chief.

ri Ha! ha!” laughed Mr. Belmont. “I’m a Union man,
Square up, and wouldn’t harbor Jeff Davis, if I knew it.
I have n’t seen Jeff since he seceded from Congress, and,
Moreover, he wouldn’t be likely to run to a Yankee for
protection. But you can examine my premises if you ques-
tion my veracity. Look through, and welcome.”

“T guess we won’t trouble you,” said the gentlemanly
officer of the day, doffing his cap to Bertha’s beautiful face.
“Negroes are incessantly starting up some wonder, and
calling out guards for a wild chase. I know your son for a
Staunch Union man, and feel confident he would connive at
nothing that would endanger our government.”

“That’s sol” said Claude, turning up his eyes innocently,
With a sanctimonious glance at the ceiling.

 
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 311
310 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

8nd a cold whiteness was on the cheek that leaned against
“erey’s supporting breast.

But she had grown familiar with suffering silently,
through long years, and her strong heart sustained her now
through the hardest trial she had ever known.

Spe 3 Pact. 44 They were parting, perhaps forever. Bertha felt the

It’s our duty to obey orders from head-quarters, al Most fearful battles were yet to be fought; and with his
I’ll just look around a little, to satisfy the General. Mem bravery and exposure in an army of inferior force, how
you will not intrude— unless I find the President!” hé Could he escape! Her faith in an overruling Power par-
tially failed her; and she was sinking beneath the waves
of her broad and deep love. But Percy’s hand saved her
from going down, and she walked with him over the bois-
terous waters,
keeping his eyes upon her bewitching face. “Little girl,” he said, soothingly, “ ‘stand still, and see

If the Confederate Colonel had been ensconced in her the salvation of God. We are waiting His will, and let
closet, the Federal officer would not have found him “it us

The officer laughed at the droll expression. :

Claude Belmont always clawed out of a corner by wit
and comicality. He knew his sister’s lover was innocent
any hurtful design in venturing within the Federal lines
and Claude’s conscience was easy on that score.

added, smiling at Bertha, who felt no concern for her love
now.

The polite officer contented himself with a stroll through
the rooms, chatting pleasantly with our pretty heroine and

 

 

not tremble in anticipation. We shall meet again,

Seg e ” “a - alce wa
performing his duty. Bertha — here, if He sees best; and if not/we shall live

Percy Ormund came down from his high perch, laughing

and love together, where faithful souls receive a just recom-
softly at his situation, and caught her in his arms on the

pense and a righteous reward. / But for obedience to Him,

second roof. You would be mine now by other ties than those of love;
“ Now this is all for you, little dear, ‘you know!’ Makes and if we still trust, our hopes may die in fruition even in
stat |

me feel cheap to be running from a Yankee; but I ’II sub- this world. But, dear little one, if I should fall, (there,
. “1. . ‘ > >
mit to the humiliation any moment for the sweet sake of dear,. don’t shudder so at the sound! school yourself to
. . . . . 7 ? Lan "fp .
this!” kissing her red mouth and hiding her curly head if think of it with composure, for a soldier’s life is surrounded
his broad bosom. With danger, and only God can shield it,) let not that shake
“ . ‘a = NT Beg
And makes me feel streaked to be screening Rebel shoul ‘ Fea 2 . eel
ae OE 5 if your faith in Him on whom you now rely.
der-straps, and whipping the old boy round the stump,
said Mr. Belmont, poking his head through the window, «Blind unbelief is sure to err,
3 ‘ . Fett . is rks in vain ;
with twinkling eyes. “And dog my eats if I’d a’ done it And scan His wor
: ‘ ] e * mr tt God is his own interpreter,
for anything else but the sour sake of doing penance for the ; Sg ee
g r 3 5 And He will make it plain.
vast!” and the old man’s head disappeared suddenly.
I PI J
How fast the moments flew, and rolled around the parting “You know how fondly you are loved by the heart that
hour! Happiness has wings, while care goes halting through
the earth.
The radiance had all rippled away from Bertha’s face,

4
+

 

pillows this precious little golden head, and I do not mean
to say it is not hard to let you pass from my arms; but it

 
312 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY,

is written : ‘My grace is sufficient for you,’ and that grace
is free to all. I think I havea sufficiency to bravely beat
all that may be in reservation for a trial of faith; and I
would have my own dear Bertha as strong and hopeful as
her soldier lover. Won’t she be?’ ’ lifting her chin with his
finger, and iahing the grieving mouth.

“I will try, Perey—I will try hard! You will help
me?”

It was long before Pere y Ormund spoke again. He was
trying “hard” to master his emotions and comfort her, His
fluttering heart felt how very hard it was for her —a little,
weak woman —to hold her feelings in abeyance to will,
when he, a strong man and a bold soldier, had enough to
do to hide his own. But grace conquered the natural
enemy, and Perey’s Christian heart did help her to be

“strong in the faith that was first delivered to the ; saints.”

He drew her to a kneeling posture, and, with her head
resting upon his shoulder, the brave soldier of the Cross,
as well as of the Southern Confederac y, strengthened her
weak woman’s heart by a fervent petition to Him who
governs and controls the affairs of earth with a firmer faith,
a holier hope, and easier submission to the divine will,

And if the smile in Bertha’s eyes was sad, when Colonel
Ormund looked a last farewell in their tities brown depths,
there was no tear there to trouble him with the memory
when he was far away.

“You’re ina bad cause, my boy,” said Mr. Belmont, ¢
parting; “but I know you think you’re right, or you woul a t
have gone against your conscience; and I wish you may
slip t through it all safely, and knock under with a good
grace.’

“TI see a Providence in all things, sir; and if we fail to
establish a separate government, I shall know how to sub-
mit to the result.

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“But, live or die, stand or fall, I am with my native
South!” said Colonel Percy oriiaud pte spirit-flashing eyes.

“That fellow ’s game!” muttered Mr. Belmont, as he
turned awe ay, scratching his head. “I only wish his grit
Was on the side of right. If he and Stonewall would climb
ver to the Union, we should n’t have much more war, I’m
thinking, I guess the Southern air is tainted with treason ;
and if J had a slavery constitution, it would be infected
too!”

And Mr, Belmont but expressed the sentiment of the ma-
jority of his people in this last sentence.

Time dr: agged wearily away, sté ained with blood and satu-
rated with tears. The strength of the Southern Confederacy
Was dwindling, and a draft for five hundred thousand men
Was ordered by President Lincoln to overw helm the “Rebel
Government.”

Bertha heard from her lover now only through the public
Prints. She had followed him, unscathed, through many a
hard- fought battle, through the Maryland raids, up to the
Struggle at Winchester, and there he was wounded! Even
his enemies acknowledged his valor in a hopeless cause.

Bertha could not sit still now; her feet moved with the
restlessness of her mind. She did not know if his wound
Was slight or serious. She only knew he was suffering, and
She could not go to him!

Perey had said to her during their last interview :

“Do all the good you can, my dear little girl, alike to
friend and foe. These boys in blue are only doing their
duty, they think, as we are doing ours. Away from the
battle. field we forget they are our foes; and God has com-
Manded, ‘Do good to them that hate you.’ In suffering,
help them, if you can.’ a

“To fight against you again?” said Bertha, hiding her
eyes Pedi his iit glorious smile, against his fluttering heart.

27

 
 

314 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

Bertha wandered through the full hospitals, after the
battle of Winchester, in search of something to do, and she
found itere long. But for Percy’s goodness, that compassed
both friend and foe, she would never haye seen that face
again this side of the eternal world.

 

CHAPTER LIII.

THE UNEXPECTED MEETING. — THE ENAMORED
CHAPLAIN,

iO yeees stood motionless, gazing in silent horror upon
that face. Was he dead? She would have thought
so, but for the dilating of the nostrils with labored breathing.

“ How long has he been here?” she inquired of the chap-
lain, who had become enamored of her charms, and followed
her through the hospital.

“Only a day; but he lay upon the battle-ground three
days and nights before he was brought off. His case i
hopeless, the surgeon says. His appearance indicates it.”

“ Has he no friends?”

“When first brought in he was delirious, and rayed of
‘Bertha,’ and ‘ wife,’ but on being restored to reason, he de-
clined my proposition to notify his friends of his situation.”

“Do you know his name, and where he is from?”

“ Harry Atherton, of Madison, Wisconsin.”

Bertha turned quickly away, and hurried to the door, fol-
lowed by the admiring chaplain, who proved, in after-day3,
to be a widower from New York.

Our heroine hesitated, and looked back at the death-like
face. Should she leave him there to die among strangers?
Percy’s advice,“ “Do all the good you can, alike to friend

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 315

and foe,” was living in her memory when she looked back
at that face,

To the chaplain’s surprise and curiosity, she deliberately
retraced her steps and knelt down by the soldier’s cot. He
Watched her silently at a respectful distance.

Bertha knelt there a long time, living over the past, and
Praying for the future of the soul that would soon go to its
last account, before the sunken eyes of that dying man
pened upon her earnest face.

“Oh, Bertha! my wife! my injured wife!” his arms
reached after her yearningly.

“Horace, remember Louisa; do not wrong her,” and
Bertha eluded his eager grasp.

His hands fell over his anguished face, and Horace Stan-
hope groaned in bitterness of soul.

“Ts that your husband?” asked the excited chaplain,
unable longer to control his feelings, with a face of such
€vident interest and anxiety that Bertha long remem-
bered it,

“Oh, no; his wife is far away; but we were friends in
other years,” said Bertha, wishing to screen him as well as
herself,

The soldier looked up wildly.

“You are my wife! I haveno other, and Iam a villain

“You have no other, Mr. Atherton?” she exclaimed,
Still striving to screen him from the astonished chaplain.

“No, dear, I have no other; and ‘you know my name is
not Atherton, Bertha.”

“T do, Mr. Stanhope; but you wear it.”

“Throw it away! throw it away! It’s time to be honest
now!” he cried, wildly. “If I had always been, you would
not have deserted me, Bertha! And I died to all good when
T lost you! I wish I had died before I deceived her!”

“ Louisa ? ”

ha

 
316 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“Yes, dear; Louisa—poor Louisa! We were not legally
married, and it broke her heart! I was villain enough to
betray her innocence, and then exult in her misery; and she
died! I never loved her; and when my little Bertha was
taken, I told her all, and it broke her heart!” groaned
Horace Stanhope, in an agony of remorse.

“Who was ‘little Bertha,’ Horace?”

“My daughter— my idol! I loved her next to you, Ber-
tha, and I grew desperate when she died. If there is a God,
He has punished me enough in this world!” throwing his
hands up restlessly.

Bertha looked at the horrified chaplain. His face plainly
indicated his feelings: it was cold-white, and the broad brow
contracted with inward pain.

“Death-beds are honest places,” he said, solemnly. “ Your
name is Stanhope, then ?”

“ Yes, yes.”

“And this lady is your wife?”

“Yes, she is my wife! I never was divorced, though I
said it to deceived Louisa. I needed her wealth, and I
obtained and squandered it. I could not be divorced a vin-
culo et matrimonii, and I married her illegally. I wasn't
villain enough to slander you, Bertha, and without that I

could not be free to ms arry again. How did you know I
had another wife?”

“Through Alonzo, first.”

“He thought so. I played an infamous part. I would
have deserted her, when I secured her wealth, and come to
you, but for Are you married?” suddenly starting
up with a new thought.

“Oh, no. I was not free.”

“But you might have been —you could have obtained
full freedom, when I deceived Louisa.”

‘ As the world goes; but not in God’s sight.”

mtr bg
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 317

* How?” betraying his astonishment in his eyes.

“No human decree can set me at libe arty to marry again
while you live, Mr. Stanhope. I am free from you by your
Own act; but my vow to God is yet binding. I said:

lig i waa shall live;’ and so long as we do, I shall
Not marry again,’

The chaplain’ s hands came together right suddenly, as he

turned aw ay without a word. He soon returned; but
Bertha did not see his face. She would have been startled
if she had,

Horace Stanhope saw that face, and the snake hissed at
it, even on a death-bed.

“T won’t die, then; you are mine!” he exclaimed, reach-
ing after her, But Bertha shrank away.

“Tam not yours now, Mr. Sts anhope. You forfeited all

right to me when you married her.

“Won’t you forgive me, Bertha?” he pleaded, with
Clasped hands.

“There is nothing to forgive, Horace. I feel only kind-
hess and solicitude for you. You said, ‘If there is a God!’
Do you doubt it now?’

He lay still a while, looking at her strangely.

“Do you doubt it, Horace?”

by Dear, I don’t know. Must I die?” turning to the
chaplain,

“Tt is well to be prepared. You have a great deal eS
before you are ready, I think; but God is able and willing
to pardon much in ‘a short space of time. Ask Him. We
will help you.”

“Do they say I must die?” grasping after Bertha.

“Horace, think of heaven first, and death or life after.
Are you afraid to die?”

“TI want the surgeon,” he said, looking eagerly around ;

‘I must know the truth. I wished to die when they brought

o7 *

af

 
 

318 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

me here, but now I want to live. I thought all was lost
then, but it will not be lost until I die. Where is the Doc
tor?” to the interested chaplain.

Mr. Olney left the cot, and dispatched the steward for
.the surgeon. He thought it best the wounded man should
know his true state, in order to turn his thoughts to the
land of spirits. He saw Horace Stanhope’s heart was
wedded to this world, and he wished to break the bond
before it was too late. He feared it was too late already,
from what he had heard; for an infidel’s mind cannot be
melted and remoulded in a moment.

The surgeon came ere long. He was a large, fat, merry-
mouthed old Frenchman, universally loved by the soldiers.
But his piety could have been put in a nutshell, if it could
have been found at all.

Horace turned to him, eagerly :

“Will I live? Must I die?”

“ Mon Diew!. You can do bote on ’em! — he-a, he-a!”

“ Will I recover ? — tell me plainly.”

“ Certainemené! when dat cut heales. Vilain wound,

do —a-h!”

“T wish to be informed of your honest opinion. Do you
think I will recover?”

“Well, a-h, vous may — worse cuts been —”

“Don’t flatter him with false hopes,” interrupted the
earnest chaplain; “tell him what you think. The fate of
an immortal soul may hang upon your words.”

“A-h! Send for de priest den — may recowvrer, mais not
much hope —too long on de ground —time to say votre
pritres !” said the old surgeon, with a solemnity of counte-
nance that was unusual and impressive.

“You will soon be free, then!” and the dying man

caught after Bertha so quickly that he well-nigh succeeded
in securing her.

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“ Dear, let me hold you a little while. I shall soon be
out of your way, Bertha, my wife!”
Mon Dieu! dat your wife!” ejaculated the old surgeon,
With white rolling eyes; “don’t wondair vous eagair to get
holt of elle!” ‘how

Our heroine made no reply contradictory of this asser-
tion — she forbore to excite him further. Her pity was
fully aroused,

“ Are you afraid to die, Horace? Pray for pardon, that
we may meet in a happier world, when the sufferings of this
are ended,”

“Dear, I can’t think till you are nearer! I want you,
Bertha. I have suffered enough for my sins, to die in your

arms now. Come to me, my wife;” both lean and bloodless
hands were stretched after her.

Bertha laid her small fingers within his eager clasp,
Struggling to keep back the upgushing tears.

“Oh, if I had been good as you, Bertha, I might have
been happy now! I see it all when it is too late!” groaned
the remorseful man.

“Tt is not too late for happiness in heaven, Horace. Turn
your eyes from this world, and prepare for the one above.”

u Dear, I don’t want to die! I have no hope of a better
World than this, and no fear of a worse one. I have lived
Without a God, and, if there is one, He is too far away from
my heart to touch it with repentance now. But I do repent
of my sins, because they separated me from you, Bertha —
that is all!”

“Horace, if you love me, try to believe — ask God to
help you, and He will. Your loye for me, Horace, should
Convince you there is a great Fountain of Love from whence
this little drop of affection has come to your heart. The
Soul’s capacity, here in this world, should be sufficient proof
of its immortality.”

 
 

320 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“ Bertha, a ‘little drop’? Dear, it’s a boundless ocean !
There’s no heaven for me without you, my wife! And yet
I married her!—a mock-marriage! Oh, I’m a villain!
I’ll own it now! But I never felt it until that Rebel Or-
Bertha! Bertha! are
you going to faint?” he cried, in evident alarm, as she
sprang up and gasped for breath, with face ashen and ago-
nized.

mund gave me my death-wound.

“Dear, do you feel for me, now that I must die?” he
asked, piteously.

“Yes, Horace; I do, deeply. I must leave you now, but
I will come again.”

“Oh, Bertha, don’t go! I shall die before you return!”

“No dangair of dat, if she don’t stay two or tree days,”
said the old surgeon, eying her narrowly. “Bettair go
rest a little — mon Dieu!”

“Will I live that long?”

“ Certainement — may recouvrer from de vilain cut —keep
bright —a-h!” returned the old doctor, still watching
Bertha’s white and agitated face.

“Dear, will you seal your pardon with a kiss? It will
help me to die. Your God may forgive me, too. My heart
was hard before you came, but your goodness has broken
I will try to believe. If there is life beyond the
grave, I want to live with you through all eternity, Bertha.
That would be heaven enough.”

Bertha knelt down to gratify the wish of the penitent

and dying man, and it was long before she rose from his

the rock.

twining arms.

“ You will stay and encourage him,” she said to the
chaplain.

“TJ will. Give yourself no concern, but more attention,”

he replied, as he looked down soberly upon the white face
upturned to his.

:

BERTHA, THE BE AUTY.

CHAPTER LIV.
HORACE STANHOPE CONFESSES TO BERTHA.

ID Bertha love the penitent, dying man, who was still
her husband, though crimson with crime ? Almost —
and her Spirit yearned over his soul.

“That Rebel Ormund” had gone like a flash of electricity
through her frame, and would have betrayed her to Horace
Stanhope had he been the same as in other years.

3ut he was no longer the same. Then he threw his guilt
Upon other shoulders, and was clean in his own eyes; now
he acknowledged his sins, and writhed beneath the burden.
This was the “repentance that needed not to be repented
of” Had he been thus in years gone by, how she could
have loved him!

And as Bertha knelt there in her silent chamber, and
prayed for her repentant and suffering husband, she felt
her own imperfections, and asked God to forgive the great
Sin of her past life. Bertha felt now, with that sadly-
changed face —that wreck of all that was once handsome
and manly in seeming —how great had been her error in
deserting him. Conscience lashed her for dereliction in duty
to one whose whole heart was inurned in her life.

Bertha lost sight of his past sins in contemplating her
Own. She had never felt guilty towards Horace Stanhope
till now, and her resolve for the future was formed before
she rose from that soul-confession to the great High-Priest.

She had thought he had forgotten her — that he was happy
in another’s love; if not happy, that she was not answerable

for his unrest. But now she saw and felt, through his
Vv

 
 

322 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

changed form and dying words, as he believed, how deep
was her guilt in leaving him to be tempted and tried by #
world that often conquers even Christian hearts, What
might she not have anticipated for him ?

She knew now the pain of separation from one who is thé
life of our life. With all the grace that God had given her;
it was hard to endure patiently absence from Perey Ormund
in his wounded and suffering state. What, then, must hav®
been his utter abandonment to evil, who had no grace t0
sustain him under the mighty pain of her loss! He might
recover. She had known men to be restored whose condi-
tion had been hopeless. If Horace were spared, through
an all-wise Providence, she would sacrifice all to wash out
the great sin-stain of the past that oppressed her awakened
conscience. And Perey would approve her—she knew
that. She had been purified and elevated by his lofty and
Christian spirit. But for his noble advice, she would prob-
ably never have seen her suffering husband again on earth.
If he recovered —and Bertha fancied there was hope, from
the old surgeon’s last words —he would not have sought
her, after his “ mock-marriage ” with another; he might
have fallen in battle at last, and gone to the bar of God,
unbelieving and hard, as he had confessed he was, ere she
came to soften his stony heart.

And Percy had sent him to her! His hand had made
him feel his past villany, and confess it to her whom he had
wronged! The hand of him she had loved from earliest
girlhood had broken the infidel heart of him who had
blighted the fairest years of her life, and prepared it to re
ceive the Truth.

Bertha was amazed at the mysterious workings of Provi-
dence, and she felt convinced that the will of God concern-
ing her would be shown in the result of her husband’s
wound at the hand of her lover.

2 pe 2:
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 323

Claude Belmont was astonished by the intelligence that
Bertha brought from the hospital. They had laughed at
the idea of Horace Stanhope going to the war.

“Could n’t get out of the draft, and caught cold, Til
bet!” said incredulous Claude.

Bertha urged him to return with her to see Horace, and
he went, fully assured his sister had been imposed upon again
by the wily hypocrite. He could not believe Horace Stan-
hope’s penitence sincere, in spite of his supposed situation.

But Claude came back to his home with another belief
and wholly changed feelings for his brother-in-law. His
eyes looked suspiciously watery when he related to his won-
dering parents his interview with the suffering man.

“T cave,” said Claude, with characteristic humor. “I’ll
Own up square that I can’t see old-time Horace Stanhope
in the wounded soldier that bears his name. It’s the Lord’s
doing, and it’s marvellous in my eyes.”

Horace Stanhope’s story, as related to Bertha and Claude,
We will give in his own words:

“ After you left me, Bertha, I cursed God and defied Him
to torment me more! Not that I believed there was one,
but it was a relief to blaspheme his name! When your
Waving handkerchief grew indistinct, and all trace of you
was lost in the dark depths of distance, I felt cold and hard
as a stone. And that feeling followed me, Bertha, until I
Saw you again. After the first bitterness of parting was
past, I found a little comfort in hoping I should win you
back again. But when a year — that was an age to me —
went by, and you gave me no encouragement, I threatened
you with a divorce, thinking you would avoid the shame
of such a situation by yielding to my desire. I dared not
come to you, Bertha, for I—”

“T know all, Horace; ‘let the dead past bury its dead;’”
said Bertha, quickly, glancing significantly at Claude.

 
 

324 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

* You know all, dear?” staring at her wildly.

“ Yes, Horace, pass it by; it’s all over now, and you
repent.”

“And he does not?” pointing to Claude, whose face
betrayed his interest.

“No, no!—let it lie buried, Horace; you —

“No, dear ; he must know what a villain he influenced you
’

”

to marry against your will! How did you know, Bertha?’

“T heard the story soon after locating here, and traced it
to you. No one suspects me of bearing any relationship t
the author of the crime. With your accomplice I have
become personally acquainted. His name convinced me of
your guilt. He was with you when you arrived at Wik
liamsville, Horace.”

“Yes, dear.” Horace Stanhope clasped his hands over
his eyes, and the first blush that Bertha had ever seen upo?
his face passed over it then. After a pause, he turned toward
the wondering brother.

“ Before I saw you I was a clerk in this city. I robbed
my employer, who tempted me with funds to deposit it
bank, and with an accomplice in crime, who was a young
man of high social position, I fled southward, and —”

Claude had sprung to his feet, with -fire-flashing eyes.

“ Great heavens, I have heard the story !—and you were
the villain that deceived us and married my sister!”

“Even so! ‘ Death-beds are honest places,’ said the chap-
lain. I know it is a death-bed, Bertha, by the desire I
feel to make this confession now. I thought you were ign0-
rant of my former residence in this town, and I wished you
to remain so. Had you gone elsewhere on earth, I would
have followed you.”

“ Mysterious are the ways of Providence. It is not iD
man that walketh to direct his steps,” said Claude, looking
at Bertha, with wide, sober, and significant eyes.

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 325

“With the termination of our correspondence died all my
‘Opes. I was mad with all the world but myself. I thought
eae in torturing me, and yet I could not hate you,

a, loved you to idolatry, and I thought it was your
ioe me after you became my wife, without remem-
“ng that Thad any duty to perform apart from that of
Worshipping you.
mi you been blind and helpless — wholly dependent
h, 1€ for all you enjoyed —I should have been. perfectly
'ppy, Bertha; but it made me miserable to see you smile
Ma another! I rendered you wretched with my love, and
had not the strength and manliness to try to win you by
&entleness and patience. I was cruel and tyrannical, be-
“ause you could not be driven: to reciprocate my deep affec-
tion, Oh, I was mad!” he cried, wildly straining her to
8 breast, “to make my own misery fourteen weary years,
When IT might have realized as perfect happiness as earth
oe afford ; for if you can forgive and pity me now, my
SWeet wife, you could have loved me fondly then, had I been
Worthy, But I was not worthy, and I made you suffer for
my sins. If I could re-live the past now, Bertha, I would
Sooner die than oppress you as I have. But it can never
be recalled, dear, and I shall soon be in another world. I
hope it will be the one to which you will go when your pure
life ig ended here, Bertha; if I knew that, I would be will-

iy c . » . . . >

1g to die. There is nothing to live for, now that you and
my h.- 2 a . 2 . ae te

: baby-Bertha are lost; and you will think of me kindly
Whe ‘ 7 ? : 7

1en I am gone, or you would not comfort me with your

dear presence now.”

Bertha’s deep sobs burst into a half scream — she could
mies have helped it, to save the world. The more he confessed
his guilt, the more she felt her own; and the thought of his
dying before she could atone for the past by future efforts
agonized her,

28

 
 

 

326 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

Horace Stanhope was evidently surprised by the dee?
feeling manifested by one whom he had so deeply wronged,

and his words of soothing were tender to the last degree, and

bit our conscience-awakened heroine.

“Oh, Horace, I ought to have died rather than desert
you! I did not bear and forbear enough. I feel my sins
now.”

“Dear, I have been living over the past since you came
to comfort me here, and I only wonder that you endured 89
long. I used to think I was more sinned against than sin”
ning; but now I see through a changed medium when it ®
too late! You were only human, Bertha, and could not
bear inhuman wrongs. It is strange that I never felt th®
until I came to die! Had you not escaped from you!
tyrant, I might have murdered you with cruel love, as I did
her by soulless indifference! She loved me, Bertha, almost
as well as I did you; and yet I crushed her life out by U
kindness! Oh, I don’t wonder now that you abandoned 1?
his own wickedness one so dishonest and depraved. I threw
happiness from me, and misery came to punish the evil
deed. Conscience acquits you of all wrong now, my dea?
wife. I don’t wonder that you left me to suffer for MY
sins!”

This was what had compelled Claude Belmont to “ cave.
He could not doubt the sincerity of Horace Stanhope; ™
view of his situation. He evidently felt his “days we?
numbered and finished,” and had no earthly motive in
making this confession but to comfort her. :

But Bertha could not be soothed under the pressure of
such self-reproaches as his changed appearance aroused.

,

Her very soul wept as she listened to his self-reproaches 4”
looked upon his wrecked form.

The once shining black hair was thickly sprinkled
gray; the full, fair, oval face of olden days was sunken 4

* 9
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 327

Seamed and sallow; and the large, soft, heavenly blue eyes
of fourteen years ago were faded and hollow, and painfully
mournful. : a

Bertha was wholly subjugated by the tender light that
Smiled upon her from their sad depths.

“Dear Horace, if God will spare you now, I’ll never
leave you again so long as we both shall live.”

“ Dear!” he gasped, and lay very still, his startled heart
shaking the covering above it, and his starting eyes full of
half-ineredulity.

Then he aught her conyulsively to his breast, and laughed
aloud, with tears trickling from his glad eyes.

“T believe there is a God, now, Bertha, and He dwells in
your heart; and I do feel grateful for this mercy in my last
hours. It will soften’ the sting of death. I should have
died hard and hopeless but for you, my Christian wife; let
this truth reward you for your goodness to your unworthy
husband when he is gone. Dear, I shall not live to try to
make you as happy in the future as I have rendered you
Wretched in the past. There is no such joy for me on earth,
Bertha ; I have sinned too grievously. I have felt that I
must die since the stony hardness left my heart; and it will
be easier, now. You will go with me to the grave, my wife,
and — what then, dear?” drawing her arm under his head
and turning his face to her bosom, as if for comfort and
encouragement from her lips.

“ And then there is One who is ‘able and willing to save
to the uttermost all who come unto Him,’ even the ‘chief?
of sinners — who will go with you beyond, if you will lean
upon His strong arm by faith, dear Horace. ‘There need
not one be left behind, for God hath bidden all mankind.’”

“My little Blessing, I will try — help me.

“How long since you learned to trust Him, Bertha ?”

he asked, after a pause.

 
 

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY,

“Ten years, Horace. If I had possessed grace when wé
were married, I should have made you happier.”

“Dear, would you have married me?” looking up ear
nestly into her thoughtful eyes.

Bertha said not a word, but a gentle shake of the head
answered him.

“ But had I been good after our marriage, Horace, I
might have produced a change in your heart by my Chris
tian example; ‘for the unbelieving husband is sanctified
by the wife.’ I did not submit enough — my spirit was t00
proud to humble itself to injustice. I felt wronged, and
had n’t the meekness to yield patiently. Had I been wholly
submissive to your will from the beginning, you might have
required fewer sacrifices, and learned to be less exacting. I
feel my past failings now!”

“ Dear, I don’t see them. You yielded as long as there
was any hope. Had you submitted more, I should probably
have crushed your life! I wonder and shudder at my
wickedness, now that Eternity has opened my eyes to see
clearly the things of Time! I’m a monster in my owl
eyes, Bertha!”

“Then you will be a saint in heaven, my husband!” ex-
claimed Bertha, bursting into irrepressible tears of joy.

 

CHAPTER LY.
STANHOPE’S MEETING WITH PERCY ORMUND.

URING the intervals of rest from his painful wound,
Horace Stanhope related the whole of his_ history

from the hour of her abandonment until they providentially
met again,

TY 32
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 329

He had gone to Rochester from the city of New York,

Where he first saw Louisa Demming. The young girl loved

him, and made no effort to conceal her passion. She was

Wealthy, and presumed upon that to screen her from the
‘Mpropriety of forwardness.

But Horace hoped to regain Bertha, and did not conceal
his Marriage. Louisa well-nigh broke her heart over the
information. Horace escaped from her vicinity to Buffalo,
and, as usual, became involved pecuniarily. While there,
his Correspondence with Bertha terminated through his own
Mpetuosity and want of foresight.

“I grew desperate then, Bertha,” he said, sadly, “and
resolved to marry Louisa for her wealth, and to be revenged
Upon you! I consulted a lawyer, and found I could not be set
at liberty to marry again, under the lawof that State, without
charging you with a crime that I knew you were innocent
of. Bad as I was, I could not do that, Bertha; but I did
Worse for Louisa: I married her illegally, and committed
bigamy ! She thought I was divorced, and so did Alonzo ;
for I was villain enough to deceive them !

“T grew reckless after I married her, and plunged into
dissipation and crime. I feared to-remain with her father,
lest he should learn to despise me, as yours did, and I
Should lose her wealth. I took her to Batavia, and while
there, I wrote you. Had you given me any encouragement,
IT would have deserted her — but you did not respond to my
letter,”

Bo thought you were divorced, Horace.”

“ Would you have answered me, if you had not been so
informed; dear ?”

“Yes, sir. I never meant to cast you off wholly. I only
wanted rest. I was tired; and I thought if you loved me
truly, you would try to reform, if you found that was the
only way to succeed in your hopes. I never gave you up,

28 *

 
 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

until you threatened me with a divorce. Then hope was
consumed in the flame of my pride! I would haye cor-
responded with you till now, Horace.”

“Oh, Bertha, what a blind fool and villain I have been!”
groaned the repentant man.

“It’s all over now, Horace,” she said, soothingly.

“T failed in Batavia, and absconded with Louisa t0
Cleveland, and —”

“Engaged in the photograph business,” she said, smil-
ingly.

“Dear?” he looked up at her in astonishment.

Bertha told him all.

“T never heard of you but once, Bertha, after I married
her; then it was through a little poem copied without credit
to the original journal; and it broke my heart! I would
have written you then, but for my little Bertha. I think
she was all that prevented me from deserting Louisa years
ago. Well as she loved me, I cared nothing for her, but
took pleasure in paining her heart by proving my indiffer-
ence. I learned then how hard it was for you to love me
simply because I worshipped you. After her father’s death,
I obtained possession of her wealth, and in three years it
was all squandered, and we were poor as when we left
Batavia! But she never complained, and loved me through
all—poor Louisa! When Lincoln ordered the draft, I
escaped to Canada to avoid it; and there my little darling
died.

“Instead of softening, it made me harder, Bertha. I
grew savage and furious, and wreaked my vengeance upon
the suffering and helpless mother! I told her all, in my
wild agony, and her heart broke before they buried our
child! They sleep side by side now on British soil, and
their spirits are happy in heaven. I think there is a
heaven now, Bertha; and I believe God and you, my good
little wife, are helping me to find it!

 

BERTIIA, THE BEAUTY.

“Then I returned to the States, and enlisted for the war.
I was doubly desperate. I had lost you and my little girl,
and life was a burden. I hated myself now, and all man-
kind — except you, dear. I never thought of you, Bertha,

Without a longing desire to take you in my arms, and chery
you say you forgave me before I died. Dear, say it now. ‘
“T do forgive you, Horace,” striving to repress the tears.
“But I hated your father and brother, Bertha, as much
as I loved you. I thought I owed all my misery to them,
forgetting it was through their influence that I obtained
your hand. é
“T fancied you had gone South, knowing your Southern
principles ; and in my first and last battle I looked for
Claude in the Rebel ranks. Had I seen him there, I would
have strained every nerve to reach his heart before that
brave Ormund paralyzed my own! Dear, you are deathly
pale! Do you hate me now, Bertha?” :
“No, Horace; but it hurts me to think of the past. You
don’t feel so now?” :
“No, dear; the bitterness has all gone from my soul.
feel no unkindness for any one now; and I would sooner be
butehered by Claude than strike a blow that would reach
your heart,”
: “Do you feel no hardness towards him who has laid you
here, Horace?” are
“No, Bertha. It was the fate of war, He was doing A
duty, he thought, towards his ‘native South 3 and I was
fighting for revenge, and not from patriotism ! 8
“ How did you know him among so many, Horace! Bis
“ Him, dear?—‘ Colonel Ormund the Brave?’ They swear
by his name in the Union army! and the man who brings
him down, if he is known, will be immortalized ; and if
escapes, God will be his shield, for our men long for his

’ |
if is foes, and a target for thousands !
life—he’s a terror to his foes, and a target f

 
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

I wounded him, Bertha, and he returned good for evil, by
letting out my stony nature with the edge of his sword. I
thank him for the wound that has given you back to my
arms. How you tremble, my little wife!”

“Tam nervous. Did you wound him seriously, Horace?”

“JT thought him dead till after the battle, for I saw him
fall from his horse and carried from the field. Oh, you
should have seen him, Bertha; he was glorious in battle.
He is very tall, and flashed along the lines on a shining
black fiery steed, like an avenging spirit! If there was am
unyielding point in our front, Colonel Ormund had only to
dash down upon it with his magical battle-ery, ‘God, and
our native South!’ and the solid phalanx was broken as if
by superhuman power! And wherever there is a strong
point, ‘Colonel Ormund the Brave’ is invariably found ;
and he gallops through the fiery shower of shot and shell
as though panoplied with impenetrable armor! Our men
fear him—they say he possesses a charmed life; and
wherever he carries it upon the field, the enemy weakens
and gives back !”

“ But you wounded him, Horace, perhaps mortally !”

“No, dear, not mortally. He came to me after the battle,
and ministered to my wants like an angel of mercy.”

“Horace!” with reddening cheeks and starting eyes.

“He seemed to grow reckless when his men fell back and
fled in disorder, Bertha. He dashed over the field, vainly
trying to rally them ; but as our boys pressed on and car-
ried dismay and death into the Rebel ranks, he appeared to
court destruction with the rout of his troops, and rushed
into the hottest of the fire—and with such a face, Bertha!
It was like rock! I don’t know why it was, but my eyes
followed him over the field —he charmed me.

“He is a North Carolinian, Bertha. Our regiment cap-
tured his State flag, and Colonel Ormund was like ‘a bear

BERTHA, THE B EAUTY.

robbed of her whelps.’ He dashed h sadlong over the dead
and dying through storms of leaden hail and leaping me
and re-captured it, with a sweep of his sparkling sword that
Sent the daring boy in blue to his long home!
“It was then I succeeded in reaching him.
leaping along the plain on his foaming war-stee |
face of marble and drawn sword; and heard his startling
battle-ery : ‘God, and our native South!’as he cut pia
the capturer, and grasped the fluttering flag; and I ree
Steadily at the gallant Rebel, and fired. I had nerve t ine
Bertha ; despair had rendered me fearless. Our pulse hid
Ziving back before his prancing and leaping Heed, Se
death - dealing sword; and he discovered his would-be

I saw him
d, with that

destroyer.

ag W WN }
“T saw him waver a moment, and the flag went down ;

i i red after
but he caught it under his arm, and plunged 4 a
aught his terrible shout, ‘God,
I and I turned

me. I

met his blazing eye, and
pe Pe: Bos
and our native South!’ as he dashed after na fear I had
Spas = sar I he
to fly in mortal terror. It was the first feeling of fe
realized since I entered the army. n, and
: ave arm, §
“But I could not escape. his strong and bee oo a “2
. -anite side and laid the villal
his steel went through my granite side

low!

a fr slear ; and
“ Our men had fallen back, and left the front cle ie
ards his scattere

i ray tow
=} y >»
aw y bounding away t
T saw my conqueror g Mike Gioia
o

‘ ischar
troops; and, Bertha, I sat up and disc! a eee wal 2
barrel of my rifle at him. I yearned for a . LS Ay
was happy when I saw horse and rider go down, ?

; ; if
men rush in and bear him off! si
we g a
“Then I fell back, dead to all ores = es
sciousness, the dead were heé

“ When I awoke to consciousness, t ise
all was still under the gloomy night-sky.
8 as §

around me, and cys
Be - yergreens, and lay down, as
fo)

crawled away to a clump of x eae
di vas hard as adams at.
I thought to die; but I was hard as ¢

 
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“T heard groans not far away through the long, long
night ; and when the morning came, I found a wounded
Rebel in the shade of the young pines that was my retreat.
He was shot in the ankle, and cut on the arm. I was glad
I was not alone, and we grew familiar while waiting three
weary days and nights for help. We had a little food; he
had water, and I bad whiskey, and we managed to live
through that terrible time, until Ormund and Walter Eldon
came to our aid.”

“ Horace! Walter Eldon? — poor Edalia! ”

“ Yes, dear, Walter Eldon. Wesaw them coming through
the twilight, evidently looking for some one among the
fallen men. My companion shouted ‘ Walter!’ and they
dashed up, with an answering shout, at the well-known
sound.

“My fellow-sufferer was Charles Chester, Bertha; and
Captain Eldon was searching for his friend.”

“Oh, Horace! will he die? It would break Minnie’s
heart!”

“Dear, I hope not. He was a good fellow, though a
staunch Rebel. He defended his faith as well as any man
could, and I knew he was honest in his belief, As for me,
it was not principle I was fighting for, but from prejudice.
I hated the South, and longed to grind it to powder, But
Lieutenant Chester was ‘proving his faith by his works.’
You should have seen Eldon when he discovered me, Bertha.
He recoiled as if from a serpent, and ejaculated :

“* Horace Stanhope! — great heavens!’

“* Yes,’ I said, bitterly, ‘I am Horace Stanhope, killed,
at last, by a Southern hand. There — your Colonel is my
murderer ! ’

“T never saw such a face as that Ormund had, Bertha.
I could not define its expression. The blood rushed over
it, and left it in an instant white as death. Then he reeled,

Q9nr
SATITY 835
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

and leaned on Eldon a moment. I wondered that he should
feel so for a fatal blow given to a foe in battle. ore

“ Dear, that noble man first softened my stony: eo
The rock has been mouldering away since that hour! 10
have finished the work that he began ! “8

“He knelt down there, Bertha, and dressed the mene .
had made with hands gentle as a mother’s ; ae pce
of comfort and hope to a fallen foe who had given him
first blow!

i aie strangely
“I told him-so, and he smiled strangely, .
ity away from the

saying he ‘car-

ried no feelings of revenge and animos 2: Spa
aa in arms for the defence of his strug
battle-ground. He was in arms fo Sp Jat iontoted
. eee Cs ts ok yersonal un Ss
gling native South, and cherished no Pp rely Heese
3 ] > . sbiugate it. Away 1ro
for those who were fighting to subjugate ab ?
battle-field he forgot we were his foes | ent
“T had never heard such a sentiment ~¢ 1a Gee
: cnew our
afore. Rarthets struck me dumb. KI
before, Bertha, and it struck I ans ane
thirsted for his blood, in calm as well as § ;
warm toward the strange man. ee EE.
“He placed me as comfortably as poss! “i I ne filled
> with a blanket ;
sack under my head, and covered me with a b sito a8 ~s
* «1 cheeri yords to his ,
my canteen with water, and with meyer wo! mpi ee
< — is; al sing
cti : stter world beyond this ; :
directing me to a better v y heaiuae

<7 ¢ > ion . e went away,
me speedy aid from my own men, he =
Why do you weep 50,

xpressed

, ; pica
my late companion with him.
Bertha, my wife?” ; 4
a hear stone !
“Oh, Horace, it’s enough to break a heart of - olay
: an 8 orma-
“ Yes, dear; 1it broke mine! That man sent I
caine tha, and our men, ere
tion to our army by flag of truce, Bert “ Pesisgeadiie
long, bore me away from the clump of pi

‘a - 7 ~ 7 r ir
and when I awoke to reason I was in yot
F

delirious, then, ’ sent me to you by a

» Brave
home. ‘Colonel Ormund the Brav

* A truth: related to the author by a wounded Federal soldier who

died in hospital.

 
336 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

blow in defence of his ‘ native South,’ to receive your pardon
for wrongs in this world, before I go to another. IJ know,
now, the bravest in war are the kindest in peace ; and those
we think wrong, are fighting hard from a feeling sense of
duty and right. The result of the war will doubtless go
against the South; but they are a brave people in battle,
and humane to their fallen foes. J can testify to that,
Bertha.”

 

CHAPTER LVI.

OLD FRIENDS AND WAR-TIMES IN BERTHA’S EARLY
HOME.

Wes ELDON and Charles Chester were gone to

the war as captain and lieutenant, and the old men
and mourning wife of Walter sat in Mr. Redmond’s home,
watching for the return of the soldiers and Minnie, the
wounded man’s wife. Minnie had gone to Richmond to
accompany her husband home, and Walter had obtained a
furlough for the same purpose,

There was no longer music and mirth, dancing eyes, and
playful fingers in Edalia’s home. Clouds of care and tears
of torturing suspense had dimmed and darkened the olden
brightness and bloom. Their negroes were all gone, saving
Di and her old Christian mother, and a faithful old servant
of Dr. Montrose, who had grown up with him. Even petted
Dick had gone off with the Yankees, through fear of being
“sold down South if he did n’t escape to the North with his
best friends!”

They had experienced a trying time since the first gun-
boat of the enemy steamed up the Roanoke and tarried at
“Redmond’s Landing.” Negroes from the “low grounds ”

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 33
and “back country” had hurried to their Northern liberators,
bearing with them all they could steal from their masters.
The Federal gunboats swarmed with white teeth shining
through thick lips on black faces; and their late owners
felt relieved when they were gone.

The Union soldiers wandered through the country in
quest of arms and eatables— “beauty and booty ” — and
they did not return empty. The aristocratic residences
around our heroine’s old home made their eyes snap with
satisfaction. Pigs and poultry, kine and sheep, became
Scarce in that section, before the Yankee gunboats, laden
with patriotism, “fired up” and put back to Plymouth.

Edalia and Minnie had heard the great guns bombarding
Williamsville and Hamil as they came up, and soon learned
our Bertha’s town-home of other years was laid in ruins.

But they trembled more when the brave defenders of the
Stars and Stripes came to their residence to search the
premises for hidden arms and ammunition. They would
have been content had the enemy in blue captured only
“contraband articles ;” and wondered if it were considered
“treason” to possess silverware and silk clothing! If it
were, our friends were guiltless of the crime when the
patriots were gone!

And they wondered, too, if “Uncle Sam’s” purse would
be benefited by the wealth that had been taken possession
of “in the name of the Federal Government,” — but they
never knew.

Walter Eldon’s hat was ce ptured by Union, and fitted
perfectly. Soldier concluded, if the cap fit he’d wear it;
and put his brass-lettered head-piece in his pocket.

“You don’t want that!” exclaimed Edalia, with open

’

eyes.
“ Guess I dew,” said Yank, spitting lustily upon the carpet
and rubbing it in with his shoe, covered with river-mud,
29 W

 
338 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“Oh, don’t take my husband’s hat!” pleaded the poor
wife, whose loving heart ached at the thought of losing any-
thing that Walter used to wear.

“Your husband is a Rebel, fighting against his Govern-
ment, d him!” snarled Patriotism, who was wearing
his Government’s insignia, and stealing for himself.

“But he would n’t rob your wife of your hat in your
absence,” returned Edalia, with tearful eyes.

“That’s so, by ! We’ll knock the blazes out ’n the
traitor ’fore he gits up tew our house — haw, haw!” bring-
ing one big yellow fist down upon the other hard, freckled
hand, exultingly, and nauseating the apartment with his
brandy-tinctured breath.

Edalia appealed to the officer in command, who remon-
strated with the soldier, and eventually prevailed upon him
to put the hat down. Private relinquished it with a scowl,
and repaid himself for the sacrifice in another quarter.

Hvery drawer, nook, and corner was rummaged; and
idalia wondered if they looked for war implements in the
little pill-boxes they examined so carefully. Perhaps they
hunted for percussion-caps, she concluded.

Unfortunately, she had left her purse in a bureau-drawer,
and it fell into the hands of the hat-admirer.

Union Brass-buttons pounced upon it like a hawk upon
a young brood, and no entreaties or arguments could pre-
vail upon him to relinquish his prize. He walked off,
chuckling over the “haul” he’d made “out ’n that d——
Rebel in the big house!”

Federal officer did n’t interfere this time. Perhaps he
thought it was too much like “slavery ” to make a man do
his duty twice in one day. Edalia was robbed of every
dollar she had at command, by men who were fighting
gallantly for their country /*

* True incidents of the war, related to the author by the sufferer.

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 339

Edalia heard a scream from Di, and following the sound,
saw the girl struggling in the grasp of a boy in blue, who

was endeavoring to persuade her to accompany him to the
boat.

Di was a lady-like house-maid, and Philanthropist thought
it hard she should remain in her present state of bondage.

He resolved to break her chains by force, if she was too
simple to throw them off.

Di gave him her fist, without being particular where, and
Free-soil secured the pugilistic hand. Then the girl screamed
with terror.

“Tf you’re opposed to slavery, I should suppose you
would be willing to leave the girl free to act for herself.
She can go North or remain South, just as she prefers,” said
Mr. Redmond, dryly.

AFB your Rebel soul! I'll give yeou slavery!” shouted
Yank, snatching a pistol from his belt and discharging it at
the old man’s head, luckily without hitting the mark.

Di screamed louder, and fell down in mortal fear; while
Edalia uttered a shriek of apprehension for her uncle, and
little Edward and Eva made up a startling chorus.

Officer arrested private, and sent him under guard to the
gunboat. There was no money at stake, and he did his duty
once more.

This was the last time the Federal gunboats ascended to
“Redmond’s Landing.” The whole country around was
desolated, and there was nothing more for the locusts of
war to eat.

They had killed Mr. Redmond’s last milch-cow. She was
shot down by Patriotism before Edalia’s eyes, the day it
captured her purse; and there was little left, after their
departure, for nature to subsist upon.

The word “rebel” was a passport to outrage whenever a
Southern man possessed aught that Patriotism coveted; and

 
 

 

340 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY,

it became a parrot-note throughout the whole region of
“ Dixie.”
se

“ Jones’s Store” was sacked, although the proprietor was
a foreigner without a relative, and had never been in the
Southern army; but there was whiskey under the roof, and
», ~ 10 LP nO\ 6 rag . + 7 1 fs f r;
Patriotism’s throat was dry from fighting so bravely for its
country ; therefore the merchant was a “rebel,” and, conse-
quently, robbed.

Nearly five years of struggling life had gone, and the
hopes of the “Confederacy” had gone with them. The
South had given its Northern enemies an opportunity to

rob it of its wealth, and gained nothing to compensate it for
the loss. They were poor in purse, and poorer in spirit,
when old year Sixty-Four went out, and Sixty-Five came in.

Charles Chester had been in hospital three months, before
he could be removed to his home. This was the third wound
he had received in the Southern cause# and the most severe.

Walter had escaped with slight cuts and bruises from
fragments of shell.

Peter Simpkins was second lieutenant in Walter’s com-
pany; lost an arm the first year of the war, and his pride
was forever humbled. He was more endurable after than
before his misfortune. Peter was still a bachelor at forty,
but was about to marry his cousin. (

Rosa Simpkins, Peter’s affianced, was neither handsome,
talented, nor rich, but amiable and devotedly pious — the
very one to help Peter on to a better world; and he learned
to appreciate her when his high head was brought low by the
hissing bombshell that carried away his right arm.

“Bertha the Beauty,” in childhood, had heard Rosy say
to her leader in a Methodist class-meeting, one day, she
“wanted all the religion she could get.” And it was thought
she tried hard, and succeeded.

Colonel Henley was killed in the first battle at Bull Run,

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 341
and Mrs. Wilmer Tomlin Henley was ready for a third
victim. But her chances for success were painfully slim,
now that all her portable property had gone down the
Roanoke in a Union gunboat, with men who were fighting
for their country and feathering their nests.

Dora was the wife of a Confederate general and the mo-
ther of five children. She looked old and care-worn.

Mrs. Colonel Wilmer was broken in spirit. The loss of
her wealth broke her heart, figuratively; but her “ fire was
not quenched.”

Colonel Wilmer was a Whig and staunch Union man
from the dawn of Secession; but it didn’t save his property.
It went down the Roanoke with Patriotism in a Federal
gunboat propelled by Joyal steam, because the Colonel was
a “rebel!” He retained his land, simply because it could
not be conveniently carried down the river.

Dora drove up to Mr. Redmond’s, to hear news from her
husband, the day the soldiers were expected home. Her
turnout was extremely interesting —an old creaking cart,
with an older mule attached, who looked down in the mouth
as mule could well look at his advanced age. Her oldest
boy of eleven was the driver.

There was not a carriage, horse, cow, or pig left in all
that section, if it were worth transporting and could be
found,

To Dora’s great joy, her husband accompanied the cap-
tain and lieutenant. He had “ run down” from Richmond
for a few days, to see the wounded soldier safe and visit his
family. It was a glad surprise to all parties.

There were happier hearts under Mr. Redmond’s roof,
that first day of Sixty-five, than had gathered beneath
it in many a dark month gone by.

They saw the end of the war not far away; and though

it would not bring independence to the “Southern Confed-
29 *

 
 

 

342 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY,

eracy,” it would bring peace to the country, and friends back
to their mourning homes.

They would be a conquered people, but the world would
acknowledge them a brave one. They had fought valiantly
in a hopeless cause, and failed through inferior numbers,
and an enemy in their midst.

The world wondered that they had “held out so long.”
Their strength was crushed, but their soul was not humbled.
Their native and sectional pride burned brighter than ever
before. They gloried in “State Rights” and “Southern
chivalry,” and their mental and moral superiority to the
“fag ends” with whom they had fought. They had been
pushed into rebellion by Northern aggression upon Southern
rights, and lost their property and rights by attempting to
vindicate their honor. Whatever the result might be—and
they had no doubt of it now — they would accept it in as
good faith as they had wielded the sword to defend their
Southern soil and desolated homes.

“Might had conquered right,” in their estimation; the
wheel of fortune had stuck in the mud, and though they
had given their shoulder to remove it, no Jupiter had come
to their assistance. Thousands had fallen in the ineffectual
effort to push forward the car, and they were hopeless of
being able to extricate it with the force that remained ; for
the day of miracles was long past. They scorned the name
of “traitor” and “rebel” as much as they despised those of
“abolitionist ” and “ Black Republican.” But for the last
two, they would never have received the first.

“That Carolina Colonel Ormund is a brave fellow, by
Jupiter!” said Mr. Redmond, with something of his olden
humor. “Gone right up, almost to the top notch of distinc-
tion; while you, cowardly dogs, have held your own!”

“ There’s luck in odd numbers,” returned Walter, smiling,
“and Percy refuses to change it for a higher-sounding title.

 

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

Might have been General now, but he declined the honor,
after the battle of Winchester, for some unaccountable
cause. Says he prefers the Colonel asa handle to his name;
but I’m inclined to the belief, something covert induced the
declension.”

“Well, that’s a strange piece of business! Got a wound
in Winchester — bad one?”

“Not very. It healed ina month. The only wound he’s
received in battle that required nursing despite his brave
daring. And that came from that rascal Horace Stan-
hope!”

Mr. Redmond came to his feet as though lifted by elec-
tricity. He looked wild, and completely bewildered for
some moments, staring at Walter with vacant eyes. Then he
ran his fingers through his gray hair, as though collecting
his scattered thoughts, and sat down slowly and dreamily.

The company was struck by his strange manner and
appearance. bs

“Perey Ormund wounded by Horace Stanhope, did you
say?” inquired the old man, soberly.

“T said so, uncle. He wounded him in the arm, and
then lamed his horse. Like to have broken the Colonel’s
neck by the fall, too!”

“Tf he’d killed him, I might have thought somethin
said Mr. Redmond, gazing into the fire absently.

“ What would you have thought, Uncle Ned?” Minnie’s

”
o
5)

curiosity was wide awake now.

“Oh, never mind. FI don’t tell my thoughts to such leaky
mouths, by Jupiter! And so that rascal is alive yet, eh?”

“T don’t know, sir; he was badly wounded.”

“Hey?” The old man’s eyes dilated. “How do you
know, I say?”

“T saw him after the battle, while looking for Charles. Per-

cy, I think, gave him his death-blow. It was a bad gash !””

 
 

 

344 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“Percy — Percy Ormund killed Horace Stanhope?”
Mr. Redmond had risen from his chair, and leaned on the
back of it, with a countenance that puzzled the observers.

“Percy wounded him with his sword, after Stanhope had
shot him in the left arm. The fellow looked like a fury
when he pointed to Percy, and said, ‘There, your Colonel
is my murderer!’ ”

“ And Perey — did he know him?”

“Never saw him till then, and only knew his name
through my astonished exclamation. But I never saw such
a face as he exhibited when Stanhope called him his mur-
derer. I never knew him to tremble until he leaned on my
shoulder, then.”

Ta. Te Lo

“Why, Uncle Ned!” exclaimed Minnie, in amazement.

“And you think Stanhope will die?” inquired the old man,

without noticing her surprised face or impulsive language.

“T think he can hardly recover, under the circumstances;
if it were a curable cut, under the most favorable.”

And Walter related the whole story to eager listeners.

“Did the Colonel know his patient was the ex-husband
of an old-time friend?” asked Mr. Redmond, soberly, with
shut eyes.

“T found that he did; but how he learned it I could not
discover, though I tried to draw him out; but I suppose it
was through her writings, as an author’s history is pretty
apt to be dragged before the public, if it’s any ways peculiar
—and Percy is very familiar with her works, and one of
her greatest admirers.”

“Is Percy married?” inquired the old man, coolly.

“ No, sir — never was.”

“Why, Uncle Ned, you blush like’ a girl!” laughed
Minnie, clapping her hands.

“Oh! I see it now—he’s jealous of the Colonel! If

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 345

Stanhope dies, Esquire Redmond is going up after ‘ Bertha

the Beauty, and he’s mortally afraid of being cut out by

‘Colonel Ormund the Brave!’ —say, Uncle Ned?”
“Hum!” grunted ‘Uncle Ned,’ as he laid himself back

in his chair, turned up his nose, and sniffed, in smiling

disgust.

“Young folks,” said the old man, seriously, “‘there’s
a Divinity that shapes our ends, roughhew them as we will.’
You think you’re doing your duty as soldiers, and the
Yankees think they ’re doing theirs, (some of ’em.) But
the Lord knows what is right, and I believe He will do what
is best for us all. I reckon the Confederacy is going to wreck,
but it won’t carry us all with it. I think we shall be able
to survive, and some hearts will swim ashore from the
foundered ship, and not grieve long over its loss, They will
see it only carried them over the waters to a better land.
You say the Colonel is pious?”

“T never saw a more practically pious man, sir; and that
is the secret of his bravery. He feels he is doing his duty,
and is prepared to go into eternity when the summons
comes; and he is not afraid to die. I never saw a man so
fearless of exposure; and it is a marvel how he has escaped.”

“¢ The Lord is a shield and buckler.’ I reckon it’l all
come out right,” said the old man, musingly, with a mystery
shining about his mouth.

“ What will?” asked Minnie, with curious eyes.

“Oh, a good’ many things, if they work well —’specially
two.”

“T never did see such a man!” said Minnie, shaking her
shoulders impatiently, with a wrinkle between her half-shut
eyes —“there’s no getting anything out of you, for love or
money!”

“Oh, I’m safe as a thief in a mill, by Jupiter!” and
Mr. Redmond put his hand on his mouth, and winked over
his shoulder, so that Minnie could see.

 
 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

CHAPTER LVII.
THE LAST OF EARTH. — BERTHA’S PRESENTIMENT.

R. OLNEY, the chaplain, was a constant attendant

beside the cot of Horace Stanhope. Bertha would
have removed her penitent husband to her home, with her
parents’ sanction — who had visited their son-in-law at the
hospital and convinced themselves of his sincerity — had
his situation rendered it prudent. But the old surgeon
absolutely forbade it “ for the present.”

Bertha believed he would recover, from the surgeon’s
evasive replies to her inquiries; but Mr. Olney knew the
doctor’s opinion better than she was permitted to learn; and
when the seventh sun arose upon his living but suffering
form, Bertha felt the danger was past.

Horace smiled very sweetly when she expressed her feel-
ings with this regard — as he had never smiled upon her in
years gone by — but he did not encourage the thought. He
felt more than she could comprehend. But her hopeful
eyes alleviated his pains.

“Dear,” he said, tenderly, “it would be sweet to live,
now that I have you; but if it’s God’s will, I am ready to
die. I am not afraid now, my sweet wife. I might make
you unhappy again if I should be restored —He only
knows — and I would rather die now than do that, Bertha.
Dear, I have done too wickedly for you to love me now,
well enough to suffer much when I am gone; but you will
love me always when we meet again. You have taught me
how to die. Let that comfort you until you come to me.”

And then Horace Stanhope fell asleep, with her arm

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 347

under his head, and his last kiss upon her lips — asleep from
the excruciating pains that racked his emaciated form.

“ Bettair take vous arm from under de head, now,” said
the old surgeon, kindly, when she had sat there a long time.
“Tt will disturb him?” and Bertha looked inquiringly.

“ Nevair — he wake no more, madame. He under de
influence of chloroform — sleep hisself to death — a-h!
Make him sleep to spare de pain. He die soon, certainement
—no hope from de first —too long on de ground — vilain
cut —a-h!”

Then Bertha knelt down and laid her head upon the
faintly beating heart that had loved her so well through
long years of anguish, even while it tortured her own; and
its last pulse throbbed against her tear-washed face.

Horace Stanhope’s handsome face—handsome even with
its sunken features and graying hair—looked calm and

happy in its last long sleep ; and Bertha was comforted by

its placid and sweet expression.

But her heart wept over the memory of her desertion and
his subsequent sufferings — conscience condemned her for
the past. Had she done her whole duty, he would not
have sinned so grievously, and endured such remorse for his
crimes.

Bertha felt that she was more guilty than he, as she knelt
there above that pulseless heart, and watched that grief-
worn face. She could not forbear expressing her convic-
tions of wrong towards her dead husband to the attentive
chaplain. He said:

“When we lose sight of another’s wrongs, our own are
magnified. There are things censurable in the history of
every one, even the best; for humanity will err; but let the
consciousness that his earthly sufferings have led to eternal
repose, and that you ‘have taught him how to. die,’ soften
your regrets. Perhaps by a different course on your part

 
 

348 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

his infidel mind would never have acknowledged the true
fuith. The sealed volume of God’s mysteries alone will
reveal the secret of His ways, and the instrumentalities He
employs to bring sinners to repentance and a knowledge of
Him.

“T do not believe that God imposes upon us more than is
necessary for our salvation; for ‘ He is good, and His mercy
endureth forever.’ Some require heavier chastisement to
purify their soul, and your husband confessed his punish-
ment was just.

“From what I have learned, it was not your design to aban-
don him wholly. He placed the barrier between you for all
time; and why should you grieve for what you could not
avoid? You will say you might have avoided it by re-
maining with him, and enduring until death; but God saw
from the beginning what the end would be, and nothing
could change the course of human events that He knew
would transpire in the journey of life. ‘It is not in man
that walketh to direct his steps,’ and ‘all things are wisely
ordered, and nothing left to chance or fate.’ He has,
‘through great tribulation entered into the kingdom,’ and
he does not regret now the sorrows that were a necessary
means to bring him to that Rest.”

3ertha’s restless mind was quieted, but not healed by the
kind minister’s efforts to soothe it to rest. She felt justified
for her course, before knowing the desperate result of her
desertion. Had he been happy with Louisa, she would
have felt no such compunctions of conscience now. But
she had driven him to crime and bitter remorse by her want
of forbearance with his deathless love; and Bertha’s very
soul grieved for the misery that was plainly read in that
poor and pallid face.

“Qh,” she said, yearningly, to sympathizing Claude,

7

“if he could but have lived long enough for me to take the

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

soul-pain out of this sunken face! It’s a monument to the
memory of a violated vow, and will haunt me forever, al-
though I know he is happy now. I ought to have died at
the post of duty, rather than desert it and live. I wish I
had!” And Bertha fell back in her brother’s arms, with a
cry that startled him by its depth of woe.

“Tt’s all right,” returned Claude ; “‘ what is to be, will
be,’ and you are no more guilty of wrong now, than when
he drove you from him by dishonesty and jealous tyranny.
You would not have been justifiable in heaven’s or human
sight, in giving your lifeand ours to gratify such as he once
was. I am glad he saw his sins, and repented of them be-
fore he died. God works through instrumentalities, and
through you, Horace has entered into His rest. He made his
own unhappiness, and you are not responsible for his suffer-
ings. ‘The way of the transgressor is hard,’ and he only
reaped that which he sowed. He rests now; and don’t make
yourself miserable over fancied derelictions in duty. You
will see clearer when you think deeper. Your thoughts are
now on the surface of your own sins, and don’t dive to the
bottom of his. It will ripple off in silver bubbles in a little
while;,and God’s will must have its way ;—you are free
now,” said Claude, looking under her drooping curls soberly
and intelligently.

A sobbing sigh was her only answer; but Claude saw
something in her eyes that troubled him; yet he would not
question her now.

It was all over. The muffled drum, the dead-march, the
farewell shot over the soldier’s grave, and Horace Stanhope
was shut out for all time from the sunlight and blue skies
that shone above his last resting - place, with only one to
weep around his buried form. But if Horace Stanhope’s
spirit was permitted to look down upon his own graye, it
smiled to see that lone mourner was the one he had so loved

30

 
 

 

350 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

in life, and in whose heart he longed most to be remembered
in death.

Bertha and Claude stood there beside that new-made
grave, when the rest were gone, silent and solemn.

‘ ? ree Ys | , >

Oh, I’m glad! I’m glad!” and Bertha’s small hands
came together in a firm clasp as she spoke.
‘

Claude Belmont bent down and looked in her face with
astonished eyes. He could hardly believe the evidence of
his own senses.

“ You are glad, sister?”

Vad ’

Yes, I’m glad! —I’m s0 glad, now, Bud!”
“ \ , 9 2 )
Glad he’s dead?” and Claude’s eyes opened wider.
“ Y , . 4 °
Oh, Claude!” and Bertha shivered while she looked
Nroae oN . ? ] ?
her reproach. No, no! I’m glad I did n’t marry Percy!
Oh, if I had married him!” and her wet eyes shuddered at
the thought.

Claude smiled with satisfaction.

“ va ry 4

I thought you would be glad some day —if not in this
world, in the next. You might have been justifiable by
law, human law; but ‘God sees not as man seeth’; and if
you had not sacrificed your wish to His command, I believe
Percy would not have escaped till now. That is my faith.
There is retributive justice in the earth; and Percy might

ave € 4 2 © . ae : 7
have fallen by the hand of Horace, and left you to atone for
your sin by life-long penitence — who knows? But now, by
obedience to Him through great sacrifice, Horace’s last
hours were brightened by your forgiveness and care; his
soul is saved through your softening influence, and the
6 ores ? 7 n ,

great net’ that you could n’t ‘shake off, has been taken

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 51
Percy and I will ever meet again on earth. Horace said
rievously to enjoy such happiness as
restoration to health would yield after our reunion; and I
know something of his feelings now. If Perey should
vatch of the breath, and momentary

he had sinned too gt

die,” — with a soft
pause, —“I know ‘+t will be as a punishment for what
Horace has suffered through me. It may be necessary for
me to endure a greater Cross, in order that I, too, may reach
the crown —it may be!” said Bertha, with a strange ex-
pression upon her white face.

“Poh! poh!” and Claude turned up his nose facetiously,
, to drive the shade from her
are only the result of recent
away, when Percy

and stretched his eyes at her
brow. “Such morbid thoughts
watchings and anxiety. They will fly

comes in with another load !

«Such morbid thoughts will ruin your mind,” he con-
tinued, as Bertha only answered with a sickly smile; “you
have always been too brave and strong to be conquered now
by a little blue imp — throw it away!”

“<Throw it away!’ That is what Horace said when we
first met at the hospital,— ‘ throw it away !””

“Yes; and there is another proof of the
Try to read Providence aright. Horace assumed that name
friends, if he fell in battle; and had
and recognized by Eldon,

Lord’s design.

to screen him from his

he not been wounded by Percy,
died upon some distant field, and never been

and Percy would have waited life-
n— don’t you see?”

he might have
discovered. Then you
long, and only been rewarded in heave
said Claude, peeping under at her softening face.

“If Horace had been restored, would you have been as
happy with him as you would be with Percy?” he asked,

away by Him for whose will you were waiting, and you are
wholly free now,” said Claude, as they left the cemetery,
trying to turn her thoughts into a pleasanter channel than
they had been flowing through for many days.

“T don’t feel here,” laying one hand over her heart, “ that

presently.
“No, no! and that is why I am afraid — no, not afraid ;
but I have a presentiment that I shall suffer for it. It may

 
 

 

 

 

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

be a morbid fancy, and I hope it is; but he loved me 80
deeply, through all, and I only pitied him at last!” con-
fessed Bertha, with tearful eyes. a

“You are not responsible for that, sis. ‘Love is not the
growth of years, nor gift of will.’ Iam more guilty than
you. You were induced to marry him without love and he
was not one to win you afterwards. We are not onaweralll
for what it is impossible to perform.”

“T would have performed my duty at any sacrifice, if he
had lived, with divine assistance, It would not be nt hard
now, even if he were unchanged.”

“TI think you would,” said Claude, slipping his arm
around her small waist as they walked, and lifting her over
dry ground; “and let this satisfy you, now that God _ has
seen best to remove him from between you and one you love
— one who loves you as well as Horace, and has been more
faithful, and has no stain upon his honor for ie to re-
member with regret in coming years, as you would una-
voidably have done of Horace, had he been spared.”

Bertha was cheered and comforted by gay and affection-
ate Claude, who would not suffer her to “snub sky-blue in
a corner for other people’s sins,” as he expressed it with a
whine and wrinkled-up nose. But there was a feeling about
her heart in secret —a dead weight that she could ‘not. re-
move — that Percy Ormund’s finger-traces along the fair
fine of a flag-of-truce letter only lifted away at last.

Percy told her of his meeting with Horace Stanhope, and
under what circumstances — not imagining she had heard it
all, and more, from Horace’s own penitent lips.

if it was God’s will, he said, that Horace should die by
his hand, he thought it was an evidence of His favor
respecting their future hopes; and advised her to look for
the wounded soldier’s name in the daily list of “killed and
wounded,” i |

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 353

Percy did not dream that Horace’s name would neyer
have appeared in print, had not Bertha met him before he

died.

Percy’s second letter, after Horace’s death, removed every
feeling of self-reproach that had troubled her tender con-
science since her dying husband's humble confession and

plea for pardon.
If Percy acquitted her of wrong, Bertha felt she was guilt-
less; for her lover was so pure and good in our heroine’s

brown eyes, that she believed he could not look upon sin

with any degree of allowance. The shadow melted away

from her inner life, and she felt no sting of conscience for

He

the past when she laid flowers upon Horace’s grave.

was happy now in another world through God’s infinite

goodness and mercy, and she was hopeful in this. Percy
had taught her faith in the Divine will concerning their
future oneness in life as well as heart.

Six months passed away, and “all quiet along the Poto-
mac!” was the daily ery. Colonel Ormund was with Lee’s
army at Richmond, and she “was quiet,” so long as the
lines along the Potomac were.

Our heroine dared not think of a coming battle around

the Confederate capital. She remembered Horace’s de-
scription of Perey when his State-flag was captured at
Winchester; and she knew well how he would fight to
defend the archives of his country. But April came, and
“(Colonel Ormund the Brave” was among the list of “ killed,”
in the last struggle for Southern independence !

30 * xX

 
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

CHAPTER LVIIL

SHOULDER-STRAPS AND PRIVATE CAPS.— COL. ORMUND
THE BRAVE.

i\' R. OLNEY did not suffer his acquaintance with our
‘A fair heroine to end with her visits to the hospital,
under his ministerial charge. He became a frequent visitor
at her home, and evidently more enamored, by time.

Bertha soon discovered his object, and deprecated the
trying hour. It pained her to refuse a lover; and she
wished heartily all men’s eyes were as loyal to their judg-
ment as they professed to be to their Government. She did
not mean those who stole from the United States Treasury
by wholesale, and retailed private property under the plea
of “military necessity.”

Bertha was amazed at the many and great wrongs that
had been perpetrated by men who professed to be brimming
with patriotism and running over with enthusiasm for the
good of the Union. From what she had seen, and knew to
be true from reliable information, Bertha thought the
patriotism of some. men was overflowing, under shoulder-
straps and private caps, not only for the “good” of the
“Union,” but for the “ goods” of the whole people — South
of Mason and Dixon’s!

She wondered how plundering private dwellings, and
sending the stolen goods up to the soldiers’ Northern homes,
in well-laden boats and ears, was going to benefit the Union,
or soften the asperity between the two sections.

Was it not unusual patriotism that set fire to an editor’s
establishment, and cut the hose to prevent the flames from
being extinguished, simply because of a published article

Orr

BEAUTY 355
BERTHA, THE BEAU ry. )

respecting an outrage perpetrated by Union se? en
an Episcopal minister, at St. Paul 8, upon the en: te
bath? That was a well-known fact in the —— y-
And was it not great love of country that beast ep : i
editor’s library, for transportation to “Sister Janes, : si
Sallys,” and “Cousin Susans,” that was subsequently one
stowed away under a wood-pile? Bertha. thought apo
and her olden admiration for shoulder-straps and ey,
uniform grew “small by degrees and b sautifully we bi
Editor Snow was a staunch Union man from the dawn o
secession, and thundered anathemas upon the reese yon me
the day of dissolution ; then he subsided quietly, anc Ase
from the contest, a non-combatant during the struggle for
independence on one side and subjugation on _ pew tt
But Editor Snow suffered more at the hands 0 i :
soldiers than the strongest secessionist, per se, 1n the nd 0
Alexandria! And if he did not become more attached to

igi _ > in-
the cause for which he originally battled, through the
enlisted

justice and thievish propensities of those who had
. i i irely erverseness
under the old flag, it was owing entirely to the perve
of weak human nature. ;
i i "Northern s ars embit-
The cupidity and inhumanity of Northern — on
A : aH » Wedets yvern-
tered more Southern minds against the Federa te
: *hillips had succeeded in
ment, than Stephens, Sumner, and I hillips had succe
libby i irty years’ efforts, in public ha-
accomplishing in their thirty years ;

rangue and private wire-pulling. Oe
And the war was prolonged by the exasperating —
of men who were paid from the national treasury to protect
» Union. 2
gobi was a Northern man, and “ true-blue for the
Union,” and Claude was a well-known loyalist ; - re
who were fighting for their country had robbed their nee in
darkness, and run off with their funds in daylight, before

 
BERTHA, THE BEAU Ye 357

356
vV0 BERTHA, THE’ BEATTY.
= ea 4 Ned ; 5 3 : sedg F viniers nese ae iaales ut Toe Fe ’ ‘ are
“a a eyes, and escaped punishment for the unsoldierly ‘gs ie thet in perpetrated daily by “Joy gpa hy
deed. fighting for t reir country.
Bertha was amazed at the conduct of Northern men, who

d

; Negroes who had escaped from their masters within the .
Federal lines, were knocked down and robbed, shot at, and jaan otis utes aoe amcadar 5 ee
a

in some instances killed, by those who professed to be their

profe

against it to defend the Nation’s honor. She expressed her

sentiments to Mr. Olney, one day.

 

 

 

“best friends,” and were fighting for their liberty.

One honest, industrious, inoffensive colored man * was
robbed of one hundred dollars on the holy Sabbath day, by
soldiers who were fighting for their country. Some held es
tols to his head, while others plundered his premises. Cut-
ting a hole in the tin lid, they emptied the poor man’s hard
earnings, from his private box, into their patriotic pockets;
and Shoulder-straps declared himself “afraid to er Sa

“There’s bravery for you!” said Bertha, when the tale
was told; and Mr. Olney’s face flushed as he caught the
sound of sarcasm. p

Innocent girls were consigned to endless infamy by the
wiles and false promises of patriotic men, who spit scorn at
the word “traitor.” And many unsuspecting, susceptible
daughters of Eve were married to brave defenders of the
Nation’s honor, who had wives in Northern homes.t

Bertha and Claude ranked high among the list of “South-
ern Loyalists” when the first Federal reziment took posses-
sion of “the favorite city of Washington ;” and Percy oe
mund knew her mind when the old woodman looked under
his broadbrim, and said, smilingly :

“T reckon this little girl is Union at heart ?”

But our heroine ere long acquired the reputation of being
a “copperhead,” simply because she “ despised migaiisleale
and could not indorse the unpatriotic, unjust, and iHamalt

* | ¥
Alonzo Butler, son of the author’s servant, who was emancipated
by her owners twenty years before the war.
aint 84 ; :
t The incidents related in this chapter are facts known to the
author.

by what you see here,” he replied.
fair specimen of the ‘bone and sinew’ of the North —

merely the fag ends of creation!

“ You must not form your estimate of the Northern people
“These men are not a

.?

“T wish they ’d send us a ‘fair specimen,’ then,” returned

our heroine, dryly.

“ Butler, for instance,” suggested the chaplain, facetiously.
“Yes, under his ‘Tower, by way of the ‘canal,’” said

Bertha, soberly.

“What would you do with him if he were yours by right

of conquest ?”

“Send him to Barnum to exhibit in New Orleans. He
never made a fortune out of a greater ‘humbug’ !” smiled
Bertha.

“T am no admire
replied the good man.
wrath, but grievous words stir up anger ;’
will catch more flies than vinegar,’ he added, with a

r of such extremists as Butler & Co.,”
«“¢A goft answer turneth away
— and ‘ molasses

pleasant smile.
“Tf the Union soldiers possessed the spirit of President
there would be less hardness felt towards them by

Lincoln,
to yielding to the

the Southern people, and less reluctance

authority of the Federal Government.”
“ And yet your people seceded because of his elevation.”
“Yes, and they see their error now. They fell into the

power of their enemies by turning against their friend. I

have heard Union officers and privates abuse him for a

‘traitor, because he is generous and just!”

 
 

 

358 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“ Everybody nowadays is a ‘traitor’ and ‘rebel,’ who
don’t play into the hands of radical politicians,” said the
Christian conservative, with serious eyes.

“ Bertha the Beauty ” liked her chaplain admirer, and
shrank from the necessity of rejecting the offer she knew
must come.

She longed to forestall his declaration by informing him
of her position, and thus spare him and herself the mortifi-
sation and pain of proposing and declining. But modesty
could not overstep the bounds, and no auspicious moment
presented itself for her relief.

“T wonder what that chaplain is after every day now,”
said Mr. Belmont, one evening, with sober face but twink-
ling eyes.

Bertha blushed furiously in spite of her indifference to-
wards the man.

“To administer spiritual consolation, I presume,” re-
turned Claude, resting his nose in the fork of two fingers,
and staring hard at the hot grate.

“Can’t you tell?” asked the old man, looking over his
glasses at Bertha; with a remarkably innocent face.

“No, sir; he hasn’t informed me.”

“ Sensible man that— don’t dose his patient till he’s sure
of the state of the pulse,” returned Mr. Belmont, scratching
his head.

“T wish he was sure then. I don’t want his medicine.”

“Don’t know but you’d better take the loyal man, and
leave the Rebel, after all,” said the old father, soberly.

“ Me? I would n’t marry another Yankee to save the
world and Long Island!” replied our heroine, impulsively.

Mrs. Belmont rocked back and laughed musically; and
Claude took his nose from between his fingers.and whistled.
grunted
the Yankee father, —“ what’s the matter now, impudence?”

‘Hum! asaucebox, the best way we can turn you,”

marry. They
can coalesce
care where you find them; like ours — two

laughed Bertha.

% ; 2a”
like my house, for instance,
head another dig.

than to marry out of their own church.

° ?
against the law.’

bility. I respect and esteem the man ;

him for his Northern origin,

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 359

“J don’t think it advisable for the two sections to inter-
are too unlike in every respect, and nev
ainst itself, I don’t

er

e — always a house divided ag ‘i
against two!

are always on the right side —

«But the most sensible ts
’ said Mr. Belmont, giving his

; ak at 4) j A
“Then the most sensible ought to make a wiser choice
I wish it was

4 a ° 1}?
ould n’t have the chaplain after you!
d of him without hurting his sensi-
but I would refuse

“Then you w
«J wish I could get ri

if there were no other reason.

congeniality of Northern and South-
I know too well the uncongeniality of Northe ‘

‘4 nt,’ pe fou
I don’t mean to be ‘impudent, pa. Yo

ern minds,
I’m telling the

know how I love you; and you know, too,

4 ”
plain truth without any disparagement. " bas
ainst y 1 shan
“Jl warn the preacher against you then. ou

iv * is -_ » ‘ ao, “ | ”
have the honor of refusing another Yankee, by George!
“J wish you would!

’ s17ra.'¢ mm
I wish you would! I d give any
i id i is n’t pleasant,” sai srtha, clapping
thing to avoid it! It isnt pleasant,” said Bertha, clapping
her hands in glee at the prospect of escape. :
“Think I can manage it better. Leave it to me,
sat “ » ginceritv “
who was satisfied of her sincerity. I

chimed in Claude, : on :
ig him, by hinting at your

can get you out without hurtir

situation.”
! s fellow !
“That ’s a good fellow !
in you,” laughed Bertha, looking over , ar gan
‘ i <posure of names, mind you.
father, deprecatingly. “But no exposure o ane 2 y "
i rus 3i laude, smooth-
“Tl manage it, I bet —trust me, sax C wude,
and stopping his nose with the ends.
, and stop
illed next day, Claude Belmont was

You’ve got some Southern blood
at her good-natured

ing his moustache up
When Mr. Olney cz

 
 

 

 

360 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

playing truant from his law-office, and “ dropped in” to see
the chaplain.

“All quiet along the lines to-day?” inquired Claude,
glancing at Bertha.

“Not altogether— some fighting at the front. I think
the ‘tug of war’ has come at last, and the ‘on to Rich-
mond’ will soon end.”

Bertha grew suddenly white.

“Take care!” said Claude, looking straight at his sister ;
“that touches where it ’s tender.”

“ Anything staked upon the result?” asked the chaplain,
changing countenance rapidly, as he marked the change in
Bertha.

“Everything upon one life! No damage done yet, I
suppose? ”

“ Only one noted Rebel killed, as reported ; and that is as
encouraging to the Federals as the death of Stonewall.”

“Who is that?” and Claude’s face betrayed his anxiety.

“ Colonel Ormund the Brave — he —”

Bertha sprang up with a scream that lifted the hearers to
their feet, and with a moaning gasp fainted in the arms of
her brother. It was the first time in her life of trial that
our heroine had lost consciousness through sudden excite-
ment and soul-pain, and Claude was terrified by her death-
like seeming.

Bertha had warned Claude against exposing names, but
the name had exposed her,

Mr. Olney knew “Colonel Ormund the Brave,” who had
given her remorseful husband his death-blow, was dearer to
our heroine than Horace Stanhope was when they laid him
in the soldiers’ cemetery — dearer than he could ever be-
come, he feared, when he looked in that long insensible face,
and saw no sign of returning life,

But the good man left her restored to reason, and sobbing

Qe
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 361

in anguish with the pain he had unintentionally given her,
thinking, perhaps, it was God’s purpose to favor his hopes,
by removing from between them the two barriers to their
realization.

Claude Belmont was half crazed by his sister’s deep dis-
tress; still he exerted himself to comfort her by feigning
unbelief in the report of Percy’s death. “ No rumor was re-
liable in war-times,” he said, cheerfully, “and the old boy
would, undoubtedly, walk in at no distant day, and astonish
the natives. He didn’t believe in snapping up every re-
port, and taking it for granted, when every wish was but
father to the thought. Colonel Moseby had been killed sev-
eral times during the war, and was alive, playing the mis-
chief yet! So with Stonewall, McCullough, and all those
who were most feared by the enemy. He didn’t believe
God had brought things out so favorably for her and Percy
thus far, to disappoint her at last.”

Bertha caught at this suggestion with all the eagerness
that drowning hands grasp at straws, and felt a little com-
fort in the thought; but when weeks went by, and no word
from Percy came, and the papers teemed with his death, and
the manner in which “the bold Rebel met his fate for trea-
son,” she fell away into utter hopelessness of a reunion in
this world, with him who was the life of her life, and who
had tenderly counselled her to let not her faith in Him, who
“doeth all things well,” be shaken, if he should fall.

She said, to the secretly distressed Claude, in utter de-
spondency :

“T told you so at Horace’s grave. I had a presentiment
then, that T should suffer, through Percy, to atone for the
past.”

“J don’t believe it yet,” said Claude, trying to look bright.
“Tt is written, ‘Put thy trust in the Lord, and He shall
give thee the desire of thy heart.’ Now, if Percy has fallen,

81

 
 

 

 

362 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

it will falsify this assertion; and not ‘one jot or tittle of
His word shall fall to the ground, till all be fulfilled. ”

“T know that; God is true, and if it fails, J have been
faithless. I have not trusted, wholly; and loved the crea-
ture more than the Creator — that is my fear!” she added,
with a crimson flush rippling over her white face at the con-
fession,

“Besides,” she continued, “it was foretold me in child-
hood, that I should never marry but once; and the predic-
tions of the seer respecting my matrimonial life were so
truthful, that it has impressed me with a belief in the whole.
The superstition has followed me for years!”

“Poh! what did the fellow say of your destined lord?”

“That he would ‘come from afar’ — be ‘very handsome’
— would ‘love me to death,’ and ‘be much of a dog’!”

“He hit the nail there, by George! But what has hap-
pened to come true in the past don’t, prove anything for the
future. The old fellow couldn’t see through Horace’s
shadow to Perey’s sunshine.”

“Yes; I was trying for Percy, then. It was while he

boarded with us.”

“Oh, ho! you were? What did the old humbug say of
the boy?”

“ He described him perfectly — said he was ‘a noble fel-
fow ’— that he ‘loved me,’ but I would ‘never marry him’
—why, he could not tell—he was ‘lost in a fog,’ and

could n’t ‘see clear’ — but he ‘never saw so many crosses
in one hand as I had in mine’!”

“Humph! Well, I don’t believe the old pretender fore-
saw it, if it all comes true. The Lord don’t give such wis-
dom to mortals in this day and generation of vipers! and I
hope you won’t suffer your mind to be affected by the old
impostor’s guess-work. I’d like to pound him for his pre-
tensions to omniscience, by George! I see now what you

aps
BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 363

were moping about, after Horace died. You thought be-
cause he ‘loved you to death,’ the rest was bound to come
true!”

“ And it has!” said Bertha, striving to appear calm.

“ Nothing like it, sir!” returned Claude, recalling, by the
language, an association that made our heroine smile irre-
sistibly. “The end is not yet, unless it is the end of night.
I can see the daylight through the dark, in spite of the old
rascal’s prediction. Such fellows ought to share the fate of
the witches in Saul’s day, ‘I swan!’ Anyhow, don’t give
up the ship, and break your heart over the wreck, until you
know it has gone down, and see the splinters on the shore!
Many a sail has got safely into port after being lost for
years; and I don’t believe God designs this one to go down
in deep waters just yet,” said the loving brother, with as-
sumed cheerfulness.

Claude Belmont felt less hope for Percy’s life than he af-
fected to feel. He had seen more published accounts of his
death, in defending the “ Rebel capital,” than Bertha was
permitted to read; but he felt justifiable in the well-meant
deception, for the sake of her life and his home.

Our heroine was idolized by her parents and brother, and
Claude thought by familiarizing her mind with the contem-
plation of her lover's death, while cherishing a hope of his
life, would stretch her power of endurance gradually, and
not snap the cord by a sudden wrench, when the full con-
viction of his loss was felt.

Bertha tried hard to submit patiently to the decree of
heaven, and bear up bravely under this greatest cross of her
life, for the sake of “thé loved ones at home”; but her
health failed in the black shadow that fell over the sunshine
of her life; and Claude’s gay tone and hopeful smile died
quite away in heart-ache, when the physician said there was
but little hope of his patient’s recovery.

 
 

 

 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

CHAPTER LIX.
LAST SCENE IN BERKSHIRE, MASSACHUSETTS.

PP HE last scene in the dilapidated frame house, in Berk-
shire, Massachusetts, is in the latter part of October
1864.
It was a cold but sunbright day, and nature looked barren
and bleak in the lonely hollow, shut in by gloomy granite
mountains.

?

The sweetest month, in the South, looked grim and griev-
ing in the frosty air of the rock-bound North — all wrinkled
and worn out as December in our heroine’s early home.

The old house was unchanged, excepting a darker shade
from the soiling hands of the passing years; but the inmates
had grown old, and hard, and dried up, with daily toil.

“ Newt” was married and gone, and “little Mat,” of four-
teen years ago, was a young woman of eighteen, with a seem-
ing of ten years more.

But there was a baby yet, with regular rounds between it
and the baby of fourteen years agone, besides twins between
the two.

Silas had a houseful that day, for “Uncle Enos” and
“Gid” had driven over to look at a new mowing-machine
“’Lonzo”’ had sent up from “ New Yorick,’” as a present to
his hard-working brother ; and “’Lonzo,” Allyn, and Han-
nah “ popped in,” before they had finished inspecting and
admiring the “ labor-saving git-up.”

“Uncle Enos” and “Gid” accepted an invitation to re-
main to tea, in honor of the city folks’ arrival.

Gid was married, but his “wife would n’t take on ’bout it,
*cause she knowed where he was,” Silas said.

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 365

“Pears like yeou don’t look bright as a new pin,”
said Uncle Enos, slapping Alonzo on the knee to wake
him up.

“Then my looks don’t deceive you; I have sad news of
Horace.”

“ Hey ? has Horace turned up at larst? Ben a good many
years since he let a body know where tew find him. Where’s
the dog?”

“Tn his grave!”

A sudden silence reigned. Martha was the first to break it.

*Yeou don’t say so, "Lonzo! be yeou certain?”

“Certain! Bertha saw him die.”

“Bertha!” ejaculated Martha.

“JT swan!” said Silas, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

“ Dew tell a body straight eout, and don’t pinch it off so,”
requested impatient Martha. :

At Horace Stanhope’s earnest desire, Bertha had written
his full confession, together with her reasons for remaining
unmarried, to be transmitted to Alonzo, if he should not
recover, and appended his own signature to the letter, with
the request that it should be communicated to his friends.
He could not die calmly, without making this atonement for
the past. Bertha added a postscript, after his death, and
fulfilled her dead husband’s last desire.

Alonzo read the letter, with many a pause and choking
down of emotion.

The men set their teeth hard, and bore it bravely, with
only an occasional dash of the hand across the eyes; but the
women broke down and cried as only women can.

If God had not given woman the blessing of weeping
away her woes, the world would be full of broken hearts.
Tears are the safety-valve to softer and more sympathizing
souls than self-controlling men possess. Woman is a weaker
foundation, but a stronger shelter than man.

31*

 
 

 

366 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“Pure fellow!” said Uncle Enos, with solemn eyes. “I
be glad he repented and died right.”

“And I thank the Lord, Bertha found him before he
died,” returned Alonzo, “for he loved her enough to have
been a better man.”

“T swan if he didn’t!” said Silas.

“The Lord led him in a way that he knew not; and if
he had n’t found her, he would ’a’ gone tew the pit;” and
Deacon Enos groaned.

“ New reason for not marryin’ agin, seems tew me,” said
unregenerate Gid. “I don’t see no use in livin’ single, when
the law’s on my side. I’d’a’done it if I’d ben in her shoes,
you may bet high, and win every time!”

“The child’s right,” replied the Deacon, with snapping
eyes ; “this divorce law is a mean business, and a dangerous
one, tew, I tell yeou! If the law was agin marryin’ after
bein’ divorced, there would n’t be so many separations of
man and wife, sure’sa gun. A man takes a wife, and swears
to stick tew’er as long as they tew shall live, and if he’s a
mean scamp, and takes a hankerin’ after a new face, he’ll
kick up a muss, and git a divorce, and marry agin. It’s
agin the scriptur, anyhow, and no rale Christian will dew it.”

“Tt’s nothing more nor less than prostitution, when you
look at it right, if human law does recognize it,” said Alonzo ;
“and the law is a curse to the world. If a first marriage
proves unfortunate, and the divorced parties marry again,
the second union is as unhappy as the first, observe it when
you will; and public censure naturally falls upon the one
who has been separated from a former husband or wife,
whether they merit it or not. It seems to be a fatality that
invariably follows the violation of a marriage vow. There’s
Mima Roseby, whose first husband ran away from her, and
after a divorce her second followed suit; and —”

“ And her third’ll dew that same, sure fire, if she gits

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 367

him!” interrupted Gid, knocking his fists together, by way
of emphasis. ‘ Dang my eyes, if 1’d live with her a week,
if there was a divorce law in the land! She’s worse’n half
a dozen cats under a kitchen after dark — by jing!”

“ And but for the law of divorce, she never would have
married but once, if her first husband had died when he de-
serted her, in all probability; but Roseby, relying upon
legality, in defiance of her reputation as a shrew, tried the
experiment of taming her, and found his strength inadequate
to the effort. Now he’ll have the Gordian knot cut, and
marry again, probably; and his second wife will run off
from him, just as like as not, as a punishment for his sin —
and so it goes,” said Alonzo, seriously.

“T’m not surprised at some separations,” spoke up Allyn;
“for it’s an impossibility to live with some people without
sending one’s soul to perdition; but and if they depart, let
them remain unmarried, or else be reconciled to their hus-
band or wife. And you may take it for granted, the one
that marries first, after such a separation, is the guilty
party, in the first instance; for a man or woman who has a
wicked husband or wife, is never in haste to enter into a
second union after their death. They get enough of matri-
mony to last them some years; and a burnt child dreads
the fire! But where they are happily wedded, and death
divides, they ll marry again soon, if they get a chance.”

“Cousin Bertha ben’t single cause she couldn’t git a
chance, you may bet high!” responded admiring Gid.
“Dang my eyes, if she wer’n’t the pootiest pictur that my
peepers ever lit on, by jing! And Horace was jealous as a
Chinee ’cause I said so, pure boy! He could n’t help it, I
guess ; and if he had n’t been so green-eyed he’d ben a-livin’
now, and happy as a fellow ought tew be this side o’ Jordan ;
for Cousin Bert was a rale good little thing, and took his
crossness easier than I thought she ought tew a done, I’m

 
 

 

 

368 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

glad he owned up tew ’er ’fore he went; ’cause it 1] be a com-
fort tew ’er tew know she didn’t live single for no good.”
And happily married Gid looked truly sympathizing, as he
thought of our heroine’s unfortunate state of celibacy.

“ Bert’a was a beauty, that’s so/” exclaimed the Deacon,
enthusiastically ; “and I give Horace a good long warnin’,
agin his greenness, one day, and showed him his luck in
gittin’ such a sweet little wife, and how he ought tew try
tew be grateful tew God, and make her happy, ’specially
now she was away from home; but it didn’t dew a mite 0’
good. ’T was bred in the bone, and could n’t come out 0’
the flesh, and he suffered for his sins, pure fellow!”

“ And they were scarlet!” sighed Alonzo.

“Yes, but the Lord made them white as snow,” said good
Martha.

“That’s the only comfort now,” returned Alonzo, who
loved his brother despite his crimes.

“ Death-bed repentance is a doubtful hope; but there are
rare instances of such conversions, as in the case of the thief
on the cross. But for that, I should doubt the possibility
of being accepted by the Lord then, after a whole life had
been given to the devil.”

“The old fellow got cheated that time,” said Gid, whose
merry heart could not long remain depressed. “I’m
going tew give him fair warnin’ not to wait for me, so’s
not tew be disappinted at larst!”’

“Youll have tew turn over a new leaf then, and git up
early tew fool him!” replied the Deacon, rubbing his
mouth to shade an incipient smile.

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

CHAPTER LX.
A SPEEDY REACTION.— THE LOST IS FOUND.

T was late in May, and all nature was smiling without,
through sunshine and blue skies, green leaves and fra-
grant blossoms ; but Claude Belmont sat within, beside his
slumbering sister — beautiful even in deathlike whiteness
and wanness —and the loveliness of nature was lost to the
weeping-hearted brother.

The solemn-faced physician said Bertha must die, without
a speedy reaction of the mind; and Mr. Belmont’s home was
darkened by the brooding wings of the last enemy of man-
kind; for all hope of Perey Ormund’s return to claim his
bride was extinguished.

The war was ended. Richmond had fallen. General Lee
had surrendered; his army had been paroled, and Perey
was silent. Had he been living, they would have been ap-
prised of the fact through some source, for Colonel Ormund
was indefatigable.

Claude was watching his sleeping sister, and wondering
at the ways of Providence. Claude’s heart was hardening
in the winter of her strange fate. He wondered why God
had left her to die of silent sorrow, when he had promised
a different end to those who trusted in His word. He could
not believe such suffering necessary to bring her —so good
and pure in heart and life—to a land of rest, across the
waves of Time.

Claude’s heart rebelled against the decree of Heaven, and
his face looked hard as he felt.

He tried to evoke a softer spirit, by thinking the afflic-

y

 
 

 

 

 

 

370 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

tion was for some wise purpose beyond his finite views ; but
the iron would not melt —the heat of feeling was too low
in the furnace of desire.

The door-bell sounded, but did not rouse him from dark
dreams.

“Gentleman wants you, Mister Claude,” And the ser-
vant disappeared.

Claude went down the stairs, slowly and solemnly; but
his countenance changed like leaping light through a dense
cloud, when his sunless eyes fell upon the “ gentleman,” for
“Colonel Ormund the Brave,’ bearing evidence of long
confinement, stood before him.

Claude Belmont bounded forward and caught Percy
around the neck, with a glad outflow of tears that did not
shame his manhood. Bertha would live now, he thought,
for, & <<
turn.

The phase of nature was changed in a moment for happy-
hearted Claude. He fell down on the sofa and laughed,
and clapped his hands like a new convert.

“ Hallelujah!” shouted Claude, softly. “Ill never doubt
the Lord again, I think! Dog if I was n’t growing fearfully
hard under the pressure! — makes me feel guilty of treason;
but I’ll take the oath of allegiance now!” looking signifi-
cantly at the late Rebel in arms.

Colonel Ormund’s thin face lost its whiteness and gloom
before the brother’s rejoicings, but he went slowly and pain-
fully up the stairs to Bertha’s chamber. His wound was
yet unhealed. Percy touched lightly the pale, grieving
mouth of the slumberer with his own, and left a tear upon
her white cheek.

She seemed to feel his presence even in sleep, for a soft
smile broke over her tingling cheek and settled around her
lips; and when she awoke, “ Bertha the Beauty ” was in

speedy reaction’? would follow her lover’s re-

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 371

the arms of him she had thought never to meet again on
earth — “Colonel Ormund the Brave!”

Colonel Ormund was wounded by a sharpshooter while
defending the weakest point around the Confederate capital,
and the event, perhaps, saved his life in subsequent attacks

more violent and sanguinary.

“There goes a stronghold!” cried the officer who watched
the result through a glass from the point of observation ,—
«Colonel Ormund the Brave’ is down! Three cheers for
the Union!”

The men sent upashout, and “ Colonel Ormund the Brave
is killed!” ran along the lines as an encouragement to the
troops, and was brought up to Alexandria with rejoicings.

Percy was borne off insensible, and the weak point be-
came weaker, and ere long the United States flag waved
over it. The “shepherd was smitten, and the sheep were
scattered |”

“Colonel Ormund the Brave” was carried by Walter
Eldon without the city limits, to the quiet home of Agnes
Bentley of former years (now Mrs. Leroy), and tenderly
nursed by that sympathizing friend, for his own sake as
well as for Walter’s kindness in other years. Her husband
was a surgeon in the Southern army, and Percy was well
attended.

His wound was in the head — not considered mortal, but
such as to cloud his intellect; and only partial recognition
of friends and passing events was perceptible to the faithful
watchers for many long days; and the war with the South
had culminated in the assassination of President Lincoln
by one who had no Southern blood in his veins, ere Percy
awoke to the full consciousness of his situation, and the
overthrow of the Confederacy.

Then his thoughts went after Bertha, and he wondered
if she had heard of his fall. Walter wrote thrice, but

 
372 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

no answer came to relieve the lover’s anxiety, and Percy
could not be held longer in Dr. Leroy’s home. God raised
him up in time to save our heroine from a premature grave,
and Claude from unbelief!

“Colonel Ormund the Brave” and “ Bertha the Beauty”
were made “one flesh” before the golden sun that gilded
that. sweet May day went down the purple pathway of
the west, and the dream of twenty years ago was realized
at last !

Percy insisted upon an immediate marriage. He said
“they had waited long enough, in his opinion, and there
was no necessity for a longer delay. He wanted a legal
right to watch with her during her further illness, and not
send up his card with his compliments until she was fully
restored,”

Bertha’s cheeks crimsoned, and she shut her eyes tight,
as he bent over to look into their shining brown depths.

“T say, Mrs. Colonel Perey Ormund,” said gay Claude,
when the marriage ceremony was over, and her husband’s
glad bosom pillowed her happy head, “where’s your old
humbug now — hey?”

Percy looked inquiringly at his buoyant brother-in-law,
and Claude related the whole story, with laughable illus-
trations of her woe-begone appearance, under the influence
of the old impostor’s prognostications.

The smiling bridegroom turned up his nose at her in
affected disdain, and then dipped down and stopped her
mouth with his own.

“Tt ought to be punishable by law for human beings to
arrogate the wisdom that belongs only unto God,” said
Perey. “I care not how strong a mind may be, such pre-
dictions are poison that gets into the bones, and makes itself
felt under some circumstances — such as my little wife was
subjugated by!” and Perey Ormund’s spiritual eyes smiled

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY, 373

down into hers with a tender light that repaid our fair
heroine for all her past sufferings.

‘ » > by .

‘But she might have been Mrs. General Ormund, if I
had not refused the honor for a reason,” continued Percy,
opening his eyes at her playfully, with a most innocent ex-
pression.

eA, Shey ae 5‘ f ma

What the mischief did you do it for?” queried Claude,
with face full of wonder.

6“ a *} © a.¢ 7; > 2g ar —e : > ’

After the battle at Winchester I said, if it. was God’s
will that Horace Stanhope should die by my hand as
Colonel, I would never exchange the title for one of a higher
rank; and I never will!” said Percy, in a tone and with a
face that left no doubt of his determination.

“We ‘ ats x i F i j

Well, that beats me!” exclaimed Claude, caressing his
moustache, and looking at the Colonel and his bride, with
eyes brimming with satisfaction.

? M4 LJ p,

“T’m glad you did,” said Bertha, softly.

“ Whvy rap??? ¢ nad , i

Why, dear?” and Percy bent over the soft mouth with
tender fondness.

“ Because I met you first, after many years, bearing that
title; and I shall always love it best, now — it seems a part
of you,” smiled Bertha, significantly.

“Vos by C : :

Yes, by George!” and Claude started up with renewed
animation. “Colonel and old Broadbrim are one and insep-
arable, ‘you know!’ I said she’d feel better when Percy
came in with another load!” and gay Claude turned on his
heel and went out of the chamber, with shoulders humped,
and holding his nose ridiculously, to Perey’s great amuse-
ment.

m : :

The old French surgeon was called in to examine Percy’s
wound, and set their minds at rest by saying, in his jovial
way:

c : ‘

“No dangair, madame. Get well certainement, mon amie.
Keep cool, monsieur — a-h!”

Q6
82

 
 

 

 

 

 

374 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

“ Bertha the Beauty” recovered rapidly after the “ men-
and introduced her husband to the chaplain,
ir happy marriage, as “ Colonel Ormund

tal reaction,”
not long after the

the Brave.”
Mr. Olney’s smile was sad when he offered his congratu-

vy pair, but he bore his disappointment

lations to the hapy
ft their vicinity for a more southern

bravely, and soon le

field of action.
Colonel Ormund and wife went North during the summer,

to their subsequent regret, as it furnished them with proofs
of Yankee bitterness and yearning for Southern blood, that
was highly displeasing to Christian minds. Men who had
not shouldered a gun in defence of the Union, and did all
their fighting with their tongues, were not satisfied that the
nd until the South was utterly crushed by con-

war should e
rn emigration, and every Rebel of rank

fiscation and Northe
had dangled at the end of a rope! It was an entirely dif
ligion from their own and President Johnson’s gen-

ferent re
erous, manly spirit, that hung out its sign in New England ;
at the strange sight!

and our hero and heroine stood aghast
One, bearing the sacred title of Reverend, said to Bertha,

whose brown eyes flashed indignant scorn in his would-be in-

sulting face:
“Virginia has got to have her nose
and then pay for the turning! we
Bertha subsequently remarke
a spice of vindictiveness irrepressibly evoked:
“Tf that patriotic preacher ha
stone, he could get it turned for him,

pay!”

Percy’s head fell back against the chair, and his blue

eyes laughed away her wrath, as he replied cheerfully :

“Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.’

* Facts, for which the author is responsible.

put to the grindstone,
d to the amused Percy, with

d his nose put to the grind-
in Virginia, without

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 375

These men think they are the Government, but the Govern-
ment don’t recognize them. My trust is 2 the Lord :
Andrew Johnson!” f : gts
Our Colonel and wife returned to Virginia before the
summer was ended, owing to the offensiveness of the s tee
ual atmosphere, firmly resolved never to be open i
such an uncongenial element again. S rics
Od Colonel Ormund the Brave,” and “ Bertha the Beauty,”
his God-given wife, were henceforth “content to nee 2 h
their native air on their own ground.” , sia

 

CHAPTER LXI.

MR. REDMOND “ LETS THE CAT OUT.””— HOME SWEET
HOME, THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE HOME.

ee Bs an
T was September, in Edalia’s home. Walter had gone
TT, 3 ot gi , 7+ . . . : 7 :
to Tarboro’, and Edalia and Minnie were impatiently
awaiting his return.
TT, . ey? r¢ ;
Tarboro’ was the nearest post-office to their home; one
"i ca aes % . rT . . 7 .
had not yet been established at Williamsville, and the
prionds hoped to hear from Bertha on Walter’s return
They had not received a line from her in five years
Walter had infor rent t
i : nformed them of her engagement to Percy
; rmund, at the close of the war. Mr. Redmond sprang
rom his chair i is hands furiously, wi tas
air, rubbing his hands furiously, with flashing
eyes. &
“As ! ! ! .
i a ! ~ - Good! I thought so, by Jupiter!”
Tou th shat.?? queried Minnie. wi
ng ought what?” queried Minnie, with a drawl.
thought the Lord would bring it out right. They ’ye
loved each other twenty years! I saw it when he boarded

 
376 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

with Belmont; but he did n’t, the blind bat! I wish I’d
managed it for ’em, by Jupiter! but I wasn’t quite sure ;
she was such a shy thing. If Belmont had taken him back
when he requested it, ’t would a saved her a world of suffer-
ing — poor child! But I reckon it’s all right; the Lord
knows what ’s best for us.”

“ Well, well! and I never dreamed it, with all my keen-
ness!” laughed Minnie. “ But no wonder, for she would n’t
ever talk about him, and seemed as cool as November to-
wards him, at that.”

“The very best proof of her warmth, by Jupiter! Girls
who show fair don’t feel so much, after all —their love is
only on the surface; but still waters run deep. ‘ Bertha the
Beauty’ was n’t one to show a great deal, but the very mis-
chief to hide, by Jupiter! I tried to draw her out one day,
when Percy was gone, but she first glowed like a red-hot
ember, and then froze as hard as mid-winter. I let her
alone after that, but I kept a deuce of a thinking. And the
belief followed me, until conviction came, with the confes-
sion that Ed said Bertha had made just before her marriage,
without betraying the name of the object.

“Well, Percy is a lucky fellow, and he deserves it for his
twenty years’ constancy. I reckon she looks beautiful now,
if she is thirty-four. She ’Il be handsome at sixty, I’ll bet
two chincapins, by Jupiter!” and Mr. Redmond dropped
down upon his chair, and stretched himself out at full
length, with a grunt of intense satisfaction.

Mr. Redmond’s home presented a more cheerful aspect
now than when we last visited it, although most of its valu-
ables had gone North to furnish soldiers’ homes. But Eda-
lia’s smiles had returned with Walter safe from the war, and
Minnie was merry as old, since Charles was wholly restored.
“Father Eldon,” “Uncle Ned,” and the children rested

from daily apprehensions of a gunboat at “ Redmond’s

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 377

Landing,’ and some of their best and most intelligent
former slaves had returned, and settled down in their
cabins around the “great house,” glad to find themselves
among their old friends once more, after their experience
among strangers.

Dick was one of the number, and cheered his old master
more than all the rest of returning prodigals, for Dick was
Mr. Redmond’s “brag boy” from babyhood. Dick was
black as the ace of spades, and his white eyes and teeth ren-
dered him truly interesting as a portrait. He played the
banjo and danced to his own music, and was never afflicted
with the blues,

Aunt Cora and Di were Dick’s mother and sister; and
the old lady shouted in real Methodist style when her truant
boy came “home from the war.”

Peter Simpkins was returning home from Williamsville,
after General Lee’s surrender, when his eyes fell upon Dick,
trudging along the highway, somewhat in advance. Peter
was glad.

“Hello! Dick, is that you, boy?”

Dick turned as though he had been shot.

“Yes, sah; dis is me, sartin shore. How d’ ye do, Mars
Pete?” said Dick, shaking Peter’s left hand till his arm
ached with the exercise. “Dis nigger’s gwine home, he is.
3een ’way long ’nuff. Got ’nuff o’ strangers an’ de Norf,
he is, sartin shore! Ding if I ain’t glad I’se mose dare
now. Mose froze las’ winter, dis nigger did, sartin shore!
Mose broke his heart longin’ for de warm corner in de
kitchen at ole marster’s! Yes, sah; dis nigger’s gwine
home, he is, sartin shore, Mars Pete.” *

Peter took Dick up in his gig, and put him down at Mr.
Redmond’s gate.

“Squire, I’ve brought your boy back, free of charge,

* A truth well attested,
32 *

 
 

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY,

First time you’ve had a foreign visitor, in some years, with-
out paying dear for it!” laughed Peter, as he drove on.

When Dick was fairly settled in his old home again, he
lay down on the piazza-floor and rolled with delight, with
little Ed and Charlie tumbling over him, in high glee.

“Gosh!” said Dick, laughing and crying,,“ef I ain’t got
*nuff o’ some folks, an trav’lin’, I would n’t say so, sartin
shore !—dat’s me, marster.”

“Well, Dick,” returned Mr. Redmond, smiling with
satisfaction, “there’s nothing like trying, and I’m glad
you know now, from experience, who are your ‘best
friends.’”

“Dat’s de trufe, sah. I nose ’em. Can’t fool dis nigge
no more, sartin shore! Ain’t like our folks,sah. Pays you
all in perliteness, an’ dat’s what we niggers can’t live on in
war times,—dat’s me! Dey ax me what my name is, an’
I say ‘Dick Redmond.’ Den dey say: ‘Mr. Redmond,
please to black my boots ;’ an’ when I done do it dey say:
‘Well, Mr. Redmond, I s’pose I must pay you ten cent?’
and I gits it, but sometimes it won’t pass no furder, — done
gone and give me counterfeit, sah, sartin shore! Den South-
ern gen’leman come ’long an’ ax me my name, an’ I say
‘Redmond,’ ’cause t’ other one say ‘ Mister.’ Den Southern

yen’leman ax me if dat’s all de name I got, an’ I say ‘ Dick,
sah.’ Den he say: ‘ Here, Dick, you rascal, black my boots.’
‘An’ he ax me how I gits on, an’ I say, ‘ Poorly; wish I was
back wid ole marster; an’ I’s -gwine, too, sartin shore!’
Den when I done ‘black ’em up, an’ make ’em shine, like
dandy Jim 0’ Caroline,’ he say: ‘ Here, Dick, is a dollar for
you ; now don’t go drink it up, you black scamp!’ An’ I

say, ‘No, sah, sartin shore!’ wid a heart full o’ glad, sah.
Oh, I tell you, I likes Southern folks heap de most, sah, —
dat’s me!” said Dick, with a broad grin.

“Well, Dick, I’m glad you’re back again, and satisfied

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 379

with your experience among Yankees. I’Il do the best I
can for you, boy; but I’m a poor man for the present, Dick.
Lost all my property that could be carried down the river,
and some that could n’t. They burnt all my boats, and left
me without one to cross the Roanoke in.”

“Lordy massy, marster!” said Dick, with white eyes
rolling.

“Yes, Dick, they piled ’em up, and set fire to the heap,
and then left the Landing. Jared (the boatman) extin-
guished the flames when he fancied himself secure from ob-
servation ; but pretty soon the gunboat was observed steam-
ing back again.

lt BL your Rebel soul!’ shouted the officer in com-
mand; ‘I’ll blow your infernal brains eout if yeou don’t put
them things together agin, and set ’em a-fire, yeou secesh
devil!’

“ And Jared, poor fellow ! was forced to obey, with a pistol
pointed at his head, and see the work of his hands reduced
to ashes, just because it was the property of a Southerner,
and would be of some service to him, though no damage to
the Federal Government.” *

Dick shut his eyes and heaved a groaning sigh, with an
irritable kick of one foot against the piazza rail.

“ Well, sah, dat’s de way dey done do everywhar I been
wid ’em, sartin shore! Up dare at Elexandry, sah, dey done
clean our Southern folks out, and pianners and sich did n’t
stand no chance. They tote ’em through de dark, and hide
"em ’way till dey could git a chance ter send ’em up Norf.
I seed it, sah, and it make me bile, sartin shore! Out dare
at de Fairfax Seminary, whar dey used to make preachers
’fore de war, one woman, from New Jarsey, who was nussin’
de Yankeys ’cause she was so good, done stole every thing,

* A fact known to the author,

 
 

380 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

sah, she could lay her hands on, and sont it up home, sartin

shore ! *

“T reckon, sah, dey ‘ll have some big auctions up Norf
’fore long, less dey did n’t have nuthin in dare houses fore
de war, and needs what dey stole from our folks!” said in-
dignant Dick, looking up at Mr. Redmond with a scowl.

“Well, Dick, I’m grateful for what I’ve got left, that
could n’t be burned, nor carried down the river. I reckon
we ’ll get along and make enough to live on; and the Lord
will reward the evil-doers. You’re free now, Dick, and
I’m not your master any longer; but I shall not care any
the less for your welfare. I shall need hands to work my
plantation and low grounds, as in other years, and Id rather
hire my old servants than strangers. We’ll stick together,
and help each other, won’t we, Dick?”

“Dat’s de trufe, sah! I ain’t gwine ’way from ye no
more, marster, sartin shore! Got ‘nuff of ’em, I is —ain’t
like our folks— no sah! Dey don’t keer nuthin fur nig-
gers when dey gits *em ’way from dare homes —I knows
’em good! Oh! I tell at sah, I likes our Southern folks
heap de mose—dat’s me!” and Dick gave a congratula-
tory roll and chuckle for being safe at home again.

As the evening wore away, Walter Eldon was observed,
through the twilight, galloping down the broad, white road.
He took his hat off, and flourished it around his head, w hen he

aught sight of Edalia and Minnie, watching for his coming.

They were at the gate in a twinkling.

“ Good news!” cried Walter, holding up a letter. “‘ Col-
onel Ormund the Brave’ and ‘ Bertha the Beauty’ were
married last May, and will be here in two weeks (Deo vo-
lente) to see the old friends and scenes. Hurrah for the
Union!” shouted Walter, tossing the letter over the gate,
with his face all aglow.

* True incidents of the war that can be proven.

BERTHA, THE BEAUTY. 381

“T say so, too, by Jupiter!” sang out Mr. Redmond, rub-
bing his.hands with exultation, as he stood upon the piazza-
steps. “I said some folks would swim ashore from the
foundered ship, and I reckon the Colonel and his wife won’t
grieve much oyer its loss; for the war brought them together
for all time.”

“Then you meant them, when you said it nine months
ago?” queried Minnie, with wide eyes.

“ Blest if I didn’t!” returned the old man, with snap-
ping orbs.

“Oh, lordy, honey!” exclaimed Aunt Cora, half crying
over the good news. “I thought I’d never see Miss Bert
agin in dis worl, chile; but I reckon I will now, honey. I
ain’t been so glad sense you was married, and Dick ‘come
back; dat’s de blessed trufe, chile!”

And the faithful old Christian caught up her short-stem
pipe, and filled the kitchen with a fog, in her glad excite-
ment.

Two weeks later, Colonel Ormund and wife sat at Mr.
Redmond’s tea-table, refreshing themselves after their jour-
ney with Aunt Cora’s excellent supper, in honor of their
arrival.

“Don’t look, now, as though you ’d lost something and
could n’t find it!” said Mr. Redmond, gazing admiringly at
our heroine’s radiant face, with a significant smile.

“No, sir; I found it last May, after looking for it in vain
twenty long years,” responded Bertha, raising her bright
brown eyes to Percy’s loving glance.

“And Uncle Ned suspected you then, and never let the
cat out till after the war!” said Minnie, with a pout. “If
I’d had a hint of the truth, I would have managed it for
you twenty years ago, Ill warrant!”
intelligent shake of her wise little head.

“Should n’t wonder if news could fix it; for ’twould ’a’ gone

she added, with an

 
 

plate peu

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

382 BERTHA, THE BEAUTY.

from Dan to Beersheba in a day, by Jupiter!” laughed Mr.
Redmond, gulping down his third cup of hot coffee.

“Don’t go back to Virginia!” pleaded Edalia; “ we ve
been separated long enough. Settle down in the ‘Old North
State, God bless her’!”

“That is our purpose,” said Percy, looking very much
pleased. “Father Belmont has authorized me to re-pur-
chase the place where his children were born; and as you
are soon to have a railroad from Williamsville to Tarboro’,
it will bring us together in an hour's ride.”

Glad cries and clapping of hands went up from the list-
eners.

“Mother Belmont,” continued Perey, smiling down upon
Bertha, “is homesick, and Claude thinks there’s no place
like Carolina. My wife has no preference for a foreign
population (putting one finger on his lip, significantly), and
I favor the move,” added Percy, with sparkling eyes.

“Good! by Jupiter! blest if it ain’t! Three cheers for
the Union!” cried Uncle Ned, laying himself back with a
merry laugh that was echoed by all parties, including Aunt
Cora and Di; and Dick lay down in his “ warm corner”
and rolled, when the news was carried out.

Dora was early at Mr. Redmond’s next day, and Colonel
Wilmer and Peter came in before the close, with Dr. Mont-
rose and family, making a happy reunion of friends of long
gone years.

They all went over to the old homestead that eve, where,

twenty years ago, our hero and heroine had first met in

life’s sunny morn; and here we now leave them, in the low
brown house with the long piazza.

THE END.
 

 

 
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